OF  THE 
UNIVERST 


CLARA  MORELAND; 


OR, 


ADVENTURES  IN  THE  FAR  SOUTH-WEST 


BY  EMERSON  BENNETT, 

AUTHOR    OP    "THE    FORGED    WILL."    "VIOLA,"    " PIONEER'! 
DAUGHTER,"   "  WALDE-WARREN,"  ETC. 


k 


"We  consider  thin  altocrcthpr  the  best  flctfon  which  Mr.  B«nnett  has  yet  written.  In 
Baying  this,  we  pay  him  the  hiphe?t  possible  compliment,  ax  he  baa  long  been  one  of  th« 
most  popular  of  American  Noveli.^ts.  His  publisher  has  done  every  thing  that  wa«  poi>si- 
blc  to  add  to  the  public  desire  for  the  work,  havini;  isitued  it  in  a  very  handsome  style,  so 
that  its  dress  might  not  disgrace  its  merits.  Clara  Moreland  is  destined  to  have  an  im- 
meuso  sale." — Ladies'  National  Magazine. 

"  This  work  is  of  the  most  exciting  character,  and  will  be  enjoyed  by  all  who  hare  • 
cultivated  taste." — Baltimore  Sun. 

"It  is  written  with  a  great  deal  of  spirit:  it  abounds  in  stirring  incidents  and  adven* 
tures,  has  a  khhI  love-plot  interwoven  witli  it,  and  is  a  faithful  representation  of  Life  in 
the  Far  Soutn-West.  >lr.  Bennett  is  destined  to  great  popularity." — PhiUxddphia  Evening 
Bulletin.  L^ 

"  This  is  a  thrffflng  story  of  fW)ntier  life,  full  of  incident,  and  graphically  sketched.  It 
is  published  in  a  pood  style." — Philtdelphia  I*itbllc  Ledger. 

"  It  is  a  brilliant  and  thfiiling  production,  and  will  interest  all  who  love  to  read.  A 
love  story  runs  through  the  Volume,  lending  grace  and  fiuish  to  it  Clara  Moreland 
should  command  a  large  sale." — Philadelpfna  City  Item. 

"  This  is  decidedly  the  best  novel  -Mr.  B««nnett  h«s  written.  He  tells  his  story  well. 
The  pbU  al)Ounds  with  adventure,  and  presents  many  scenes  of  startling  interest,  while 
tJie  denouement  is  such  as  to  amply  satisfy  the  most  fastidious  reader's  ideas  of  poetical 
justice.  We  would  add  a  few  words  of  pmii»e  for  the  excellent  style  in  which  this  book  if 
gotten  up.  It  is  well  print»?d  on  too^  paper,  and  bound  in  a  manner  to  correspond  witk 
Us  typography."— .4r</iMr''  /JoTne  'Jaxtte. 


|)  t)  I  i  (1  Ir  £  I  p  I)  I  a : 

T.    B.    PETERSON    AND    BROTHERS, 

306    CHESTNUT    STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 
EMERSON    BENNETT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Statea, 
in  and  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


cV 


TO 

JAMES    W.    NEWLIN,    ESQ., 
THIS   STOBY, 

IS   SINCERELY   INSCRIBED, 

BY    THE    AUTHOR. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/claramorelandoraOObennricli 


CONTENTS. 


PlAB 

CHAPTER  I. 
The  Brother, 7 

CHAPTER  11. 
The  Home  or  Clara, 17 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  Moonlight  Interview, 27 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  Ride  and  a  Quarrel, 42 

CHAPTER  V. 
Lost  on  the  Prairie, 59 

CHAPTER  VL 
The  Hermit, 74 

CHAPTER  VII. 
We  are  made  Prisoners, 85 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
A  LoNQ  Journey, 95 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Indian  Village  and  a  Mysterious  Character, 105 

CHAPTER  X. 
Trying  Events, 116 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Doom  and  the  Hofe, 130 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Escape  of  Langee,   and  what  Followed, 142 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  Stake, 150 

1*  (5) 

M58104G 


6  CONTENTS. 

Faqi 
CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Kecoyzrt 167 

CHAPTER  XV. 
TsDions  Captititt, 181 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Thb  Attack, 190 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Something  of  Harlet,   Viola,  and  Langee, 203 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Brutality  and  Suspicion, 215 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Cloten  Foot  Visible, 227 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Mt  Sentence  and  its  Execution, 236 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Resuscitation,  and  what  Followed, 244 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
As  Old  Fob  in  the  Field, 257 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Rancho, 271 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
From  Impending  Death  to  a  Dungeon, 281 

CHAPTER    XXV. 
The  Attack  and  Rescue 295 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 
In  the  Camp  of  the  Enemy i 305 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
On  the  Field  of  Palo  Afrro, 315 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
"Last  Scene  of  All." 325 


CLAM   MORELiND: 

OR, 

IDVENTEES  IN  THE  FAR  SOIITH-WEST. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE   BROTHER. 


The  first  of  October,  of  the  year  of  our  Lord  1845, 
found  me  a  guest  of  the  Tremont  House,  in  the  goodly  city 
of  Galveston,  Texas.  An  invalid  guest,  I  may  add — for  I 
had  been  confined  to  my  room  for  some  days,  sufiering 
much  pain  from  a  couple  of  flesh  wounds  received  in  a 
recent  skirmish  with  a  party  of  Texan  brigands,  some- 
where between  my  present  abode  and  the  river  Brazos, 
while  in  the  act  of  making  my  escape  with  some  friends 
from  the  head-quarters  of  a  notorious  villain,  counter- 
feiter, etcetera,  known  as  Count  D'Estang.  The  reader 
who  has  been  so  fortunate,  or  unfortunate,  (I  leave  him  to 
decide  which,)  as  to  peruse  a  portion  of  my  narrative,  under 
the  title  of  "  Viola,"  will  readily  understand  to  what  I 
allude  ;  but  in  order  to  refresL  his  memory  with  the  past 
events  of  my  career,  and  also  give  those  before  whom  I 
may  now  appear  for  the  first  time  an  inkling  of  what  has 
already  been  recorded  of  my  adventures,  I  will  here  tran- 
scribe a  letter,  which  about  this  period  I  wrote  home  to 
my  worthy  parent  in  Virginia : 

(7) 


8  CL*ARA  MORELAND. 


<'D^R  Father;— 

"  In  my  last,  dated  at  New  Orleans,  you  will  recollect  I 
made  some  mention  of  a  very  eccentric  travelling  compa- 
nion, by  the  name  of  Harley,  who,  having  been  introduced 
to  me  one  night  at  a  ball  in  Swansdown,  renewed  acquaint- 
ance on  the  boat  at  Louisville,  and  kept  me  company  down 
the  river ;  and  I  think  I  also  added,  that  we  had  in  contem- 
plation a  trip  to  Mexico,  merely  to  gratify  curiosity  and 
have  some  adventures.  Well,  we  have  not  been  to  Mexico' 
as  yet — but  we  have  had  some  adventures  notwithstanding. 
If  memory  serves  me  right,  I  told  you  there  was  a  certain 
mystery  about  my  friend — for  even  then  I  regarded  him  as 
such — which  I  had  not  been  able  to  fathom ;  but  this  has 
since  been  explained  away,  and  I  now  know  his  whole 
history. 

"  It  seems  that  he  is  the  son  of  a  wealthy  Georgian 
planter,  residing  in  or  near  Macon,  and  a  graduate  of  one  of 
our  Northern  colleges.  Some  three  years  since,  soon  after 
completing  his  course  of  studies,  and  while  on  a  visit  to  a 
relative  in  Virginia,  he  accidentally,  and  in  a  very  romantic 
manner,  formed  acquaintance  with  a  young  lady  (or  per- 
haps I  should  rather  say  girl)  in  her  teens,  called  Viola 
St.  Auburn,  who  chanced  to  be  there  %*'>  a  seminary,  and 
between  whom  and  himself  at  once  sprung  up  a  very  warm 
attachment.  Now  the  reputed  father  a*  Viola,  and  the 
father  of  my  friend,  were  sworn  enemies  and  in  conse- 
quence of  this  the  lovers  were  torn  asundc**,  and  each 
forbid  by  an  indignant  parent  ever  seeing  the  otber  again. 
But  *  man  proposes  and  God  disposes,'  as  you  wiL  se^  by 
what  follows. 

"  Harley  and  St.  Auburn,  the  parents  of  my  hero  a^, 
heroine,  had  in  early  life  been  rivals — had  quarreled  and 
fought ;  and  the  former  had  been  worsted  in  more  senses 
than  one — having  received  the  ball  of  his  antagonist,  and, 


THE   BROTHER.  9 


shortly  after,  the  news  that  the  lady,  on  whose  account  he 
had  shed  his  blood,  had  become  the  wife  of  his  enemy. 
This  latter  blow  had  been  nigh  finishing  what  the  former 
had  left  undone  ;  but  he  lived  to  marry  and  rear  a  family ; 
though  his  reason,  it  is  still  contended,  has  never  been 
entirely  sound  since  the  date  of  the  aforementioned  events  : 
and  to  this  day,  the  bare  mention  of  the  name  of  St. 
Auburn  is  enough  to  drive  him  frantic. 

"  Not  long  after  his  marrriage,  St.  Auburn  removed  to 
the  city  of  Mexico,  where  he  became  a  merchant,  and 
continued  in  business  till  recently.  Viola  he  put  to  school 
in  this  country  ;  and  by  this  means  the  children  of  the 
rivals  and  foes  met,  as  previously  stated.  After  the  sepa- 
ration of  the  lovers,  they  had  only  seen  each  other  onco 
prior  to  the  date  of  my  last  letter ;  and  my  friend  Harley, 
having  received  his  portion  from  his  father,  had  become  an 
eccentric  wanderer,  travelling  with  no  other  purpose  than 
to  kill  time  and  drive  unpleasant  thoughts  from  his  mind. 

"  I  now  come  to  speak  of  events  which  have,  for  aught 
I  know  to  the  contrary,  brought  this  romantic  affaire  de 
coeur  to  a  happy  termination — events  in  which  your  dutiful 
son  has  had  the  honor  to  figure  somewhat  conspicuously. 

"  While  in  New  Orleans,  as  fate  would  have  it,  my  friend 
saw  Viola  pass  him  in  a  carriage.  Wild  with  conflicting 
emotions,  he  followed  it  at  the  risk  of  his  neck,  and  brought 
up  on  boafd  a  steamer  bound  for  this  city.  He  saw  Viola  but 
a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  learned  that  her  first  desti- 
nation was  Galveston,  Texas.  Thither  he  followed  her,  a 
day  or  two  afterward,  accompanied  by  myself  and  Tom. 
In  the  post-office  here,  he  found  a  letter  from  her,  in  which 
she  stated  that  her  father  had  sold  her  to  a  French  Count 
D'Estang — that  shortly  she  expected  to  be  on  her  way  to 
his  residence,  D'Estang  Ville,  somewhere  near  the  river 


10  CLARA  MORELAND. 


Brazos — and   implored  him   to   come    to  her  rescue  in 
disguise. 

"  We  accordingly  disguised  ourselves  as  pedlars,  and 
set  off  in  quest  of  her ;  and  after  a  day  or  two  of  iidven- 
tures — some  ludicrous  and  some  thrilling — ^we  succeeded  in 
finding  D'Estang  Ville  and  gaining  admittance.  I  cannot 
here  recount  one  tithe  of  what  followed.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that  Viola  and  St.  Auhurn  were  both  confined  here  as 
prisoners ;  tl^at  we  discovered  the  Count  to  be  a  base 
counterfeiter ;  and  that  we  succeeded  in  securing  him  in 
his  own  stronghold  and  liberating  his  victims. 

"  While  escaping  across  the  country  to  Galveston,  we 
■were  assailed  in  the  night — by  the  Count's  cut-throats  as 
vre  suppose — St.  Auburn  was  mortally  wounded,  and  I  w^as 
stabbed  in  the  arm  and  thigh,  and  am  slightly  indisposed 
in  consequence.  After  being  mortally  wounded,  St.  Auburn 
lived  long  enough  to  make  a  confession ;  by  which  it 
appears  that  Viola  was  not  his  daughter,  but  the  stolen 
child  of  a  distinguished  Spanish  gentleman  of  great  wealth, 
and  at  present  a  resident  of  the  city  of  Mexico.  By  the 
death-bed  of  St.  Auburn,  at  his  particular  request,  Viola 
and  Ilarley  were  married,  and  are  now  gone  to  New  Orleans 
to  procure  proofs  of  her  identity  with  the  lost  daughter  of 
Don  Alverda,  her  reputed  father.  These  obtained,  it  is 
their  intention  to  return  to  this  city  and  take  me  with  them 
thence  to  Mexico.  Whether  I  shall  go  or  not,  remains  to 
be  seen. 

"  Thus  you  see,  dear  father,  I  have  been  favored  with 
not  a  little  of  living  romance  already — what  remains  in 
store  for  me,  Heaven  only  knows :  I  hope  something  better 
than  sabre  stabs. 

"  I  have  neglected  to  record,  by  the  way,  another  little 
affair  of  my  own,  which  may  grow  into  something  serious, 
or  may  not.     You  will  recollect  I  mentioned  the  death  of  a 


THE   BROTHER.  H 


young  man  on  the  Neptune,  while  we  were  coming  down 
the  Mississippi,  the  victim  of  a  gambler.  I  learned  that 
his  name  was  Thomas  Moreland,  and  that  he  was  the 
Bon  of  a  Widow  Moreland,  residing  at  an  inland  village  of 
Texas.  Now  mark  how  curiously  things  turn  up  !  While 
travelling  on  foo|  in  the  disguise  of  a  pedlar,  I  came  to  a 
house  from  which  issued  the  most  melodious  strains  of  the 
human  voice  I  had  ever  heard.  Well,  I  was  anxious  to  see 
the  singer,  and  I  went  in.  I  found  her  to  be  a  very  beau- 
tiful young  lady,  who  was  momentarily  expecting  her 
brother,  who  had  been  absent  two  years  in  Europe.  She 
mistook  me  for  her  brother,  whom  I  suppose  I  very  much 
resemble,  rushed  into  my  arms,  and  we  had  quite  a  time 
of  it,  I  assure  you.  Well,  to  be  brief,  she  turned  out  to 
be  a  cousin  of  the  gambler's  victim,  and  her  name  is  Clara 
Moreland.  She  was  very  much  affected  to  hear  of  his 
death ;  and  putting  one  thing  with  another,  we  got  very 
well  acquainted  in  a  short  time.  She  is  very  lovely  ;  and 
her  father.  Colonel  Moreland,  is  a  gentleman  of  political 
distinction.  In  short,  I  became  very  much  interested  in 
her,  and  have  had  some  serious  thoughts  about  calling  on 
her  again.     That  is  all. 

"  Give  my  love  to  sisters.  Old  Moll,  and  the  negroes 
generally ;  and  tell  the  latter  Tom  is  well.  By  the  by,  I 
owe  my  life  to  Tom — but  I  will  tell  you  more  another  time. 
How  do  you  all  come  on  ?  I  ask  the  question,  but  have 
no  idea  how,  where,  or  when,  I  shall  get  an  answer. 

"  You  shall  hear  from  me  again  soon.  Meantime,  I  am, 
dear  father, 

"  Afiectionately  yours, — 

"  HENRY  WALTON. 
**  To  Richard  Walton,  Esq,,  ) 
iSwansdoivn,  Va.      ) 

"  P.  S. — Don't  be  alarmed  about  my  wounds  !     They 


12  GLARA   MORELAND. 

are  not  very  serious,  and  I  am  getting  well  fast.  I  think 
they  would  not  trouble  me  now,  only  that  I  exposed  myself 
and  took  cold." 

This  letter  I  sent  to  the  post-office  by  Tom,  who  on  his 
return  handed  me  the  subjoined : 

"New  Orleans,  8ept  27th,  1845. 
"  My  Dear  Harry  : 

"  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  home,  which  requires 
my  presence  there  immediately.  My  poor  father  has  been 
taken  suddenly  ill,  and  is  not  expected  to  recover.  I  shall 
leave  to-day  for  Macon,  via  Savannah,  taking  Viola  with 
me,  to  whom  I  now  expect  my  friends  to  be  reconciled, 
since  the  blood  of  the  St.  Auburns  is  not  in  her  veins.  As 
I  cannot  fix  on  any  time  for  my  return,  you  had  better  not 
wait  for  me ;  but  write  to  Macon,  and  keep  me  advised  of 
your  whereabouts.  It  grieves  me  to  part  with  so  dear  a 
friend — but  necessity  compels  me.  Can  you  not  come  to 
Macon  ?  Think  of  it  seriously — I  will  assure  you  of  a 
cordial  reception.  Dear  Viola,  with  tearful  eyes,  sends 
her  love  to  you.  Do  not  fail  to  write,  and  keep  me 
advised  of  your  doings ;  and  believe  me,  my  dear  Harry, 
"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"MORTON  HAREEY. 

«P.  S.— How  about  Miss  Clara?" 

I  read  this,  seated  in  a  large  arm  chair,  swayed  with 
bandages  and  propped  with  pillows,  and  was  pondering  on 
the  uncertainty  of  human  life,  and  the  many  accidents 
which  flesh  is  heir  to,  when  Tom,  who  had  gone  out  after 
handing  me  the  foregoing,  re-entered  my  apartment,  and 
said,  hurriedly: 

"Dar*s  a  gemman  below  'quiring  about  you,  Massa  Hal, 


THE   BROTHER.  13 


dat  if  I  did'nt  know  you  was  here,  I'd  tink  was  you'sefF, 
Bartin." 

"Ah!  indeed,"  returned  I,  with  no  small  degree  of 
interest,  for  I  more  than  suspected  who  he  was :  "  Show 
him  up,  Tom!" 

Some  five  minutes  later  Tom  ushered  into  my  chamber 
a  fine,  noble-looking,  handsome  stranger,  to  be  mistaken 
for  whom,  so  far  as  personal  appearance  might  be  con- 
cerned, I  could  consider  in  no  othjer  light  than  a  compli- 
ment. He  was  nearly  six  feet  in  stature,  finely  propor- 
tioned, with  bright  hazel  eyes,  a  high,  smooth  forehead,  a 
nose  just  sufficiently  Koman  to  give  a  character  to  the 
face,  a  well-formed  mouth,  and  a  finely  turned  chin.  The 
countenance  was  altogether  highly  intellectual,  and  his 
manner  had  all  the  graceful  ease  and  dignity  of  a  true 
bred  gentleman. 

"Mr.  Walton,"  he  said,  in  a  frank,  off-hand  way,  ad- 
vancing to  me,  and  extending  his  hand,  "  I  am  very  sorry 
to  find  you  an  invalid.  But  I  beg  your  pardon  !  I  have 
not  yet  introduced  myself:  My  name  is  Walter  Moreland." 

"  So  I  anticipated,"  I  replied,  "when  Tom  informed  me 
that  there  was  a  gentleman  below  inquiring  for  me,  who 
was  the  very  counterpart  of  myself,  as  I  had  the  honor  of 
once  being  taken  for  just  such  an  individual." 

"Ah!  yes,"  said  my  new  acquaintance,  laughing:  "my 
sister  Clara  told  me  all  about  it  ;  and  I  have  had  my 
own  sport  with  her  since,  concerning  it,  I  assure  you." 

"  I  hope  she  is  well,"  I  rejoined;  and  though  I  affected 
a  genteel  indifference,  I  felt  the  blood  mount  to  my 
temples,  and  knew  my  companion  noticed  it. 

"Yes,  Clara  is  well,"  he  answered;  "and  had  she 
dreamed  that  I  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  with  you, 
I  doubt  not  she  would  have  sent  her  special  regards." 

As  Moreland  said  this,  I  fancied  he  gave  me  a  very 
2 


14  CLARA  MORELAND. 

peculiar  look  ;  and  for  a  moment  or  two  I  really  felt  con- 
fused. 

"  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  her,"  I  hastened  to  rejoin, 
"  for  so  kindly  remembering  one  who  can  lay  so  little  claim 
to  the  honor.  Our  meeting  was  certainly  a  rather  romantic 
one;  and  was  owing,  I  believe,  to  a  species  of  impudence  on 
my  part,  for  which  I  can  only  forgive  myself  by  recollecting 
of  what  pleasure  I  must  otherwise  have  been  deprived." 

"  Well,  you  did  meet,  and  that  meeting  has  led  to  oux 
meeting,  and  this  I  sincerely  trust  neither  of  us  may 
have  cause  to  regret.  I  have  just  arrived  in  town ;  and 
seeing  your  name  on  the  register,  I  was  making  some 
inquiries  concerning  you,  when  your  servant,  who  I  sup- 
pose had  overheard  a  portion  of  the  conversation,  informed 
me  he  had  orders  to  show  me  to  your  chamber.  They  tell 
me  you  were  wounded  in  a  skirmish  with  a  party  of 
brigands  between  here  and  the  Brazos  ?" 

"  Yes !  and  I  thank  Heaven  the  result  has  proved  no 
worse  than  you  see.  We  all  had  a  very  narrow  escape;" 
and  I  proceeded,  at  his  request,  to  give  him  the  particulars 
of  the  whole  affair,  and  the  causes  which  led  to  it. 

"Truly  romantic  !"  he  rejoined.  "And  so  you  think 
this  Count  D'Estang  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  despera- 
does, eh?" 

"  Such  is  my  honest  conviction." 

"I  must  acquaint  my  father  with  this.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken,  he  knows  the  man,  and  suspects  his  occupation. 
We  must  clear  the  country  of  such  villains,  now  that  we 
are  getting  into  good  society.  Too  long  has  Texas  been 
the  resort  of  the  outlaws  of  all  nations,  and  it  is  time  for 
them  to  be  seeking  some  new  Australia." 

"  The  war — if,  as  some  predict,  we  come  to  a  brush  with 
Mexico— will  be  likely  to  take  off  many  of  them,"  I 
replied. 


THE   BROTHER.  /  15 


"Yes,"  returned  Moreland ;  "and  in  so  much,  war  will 
be  a  blessing  rather  than  a  curse." 

"  By-the-by,"  said  I,  "  I  have  neglected  to  inquire  where 


your  sister  is  now  V* 

"  Home,  at  my  father's,  in  Houston.  And  apropos — 
shall  we  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  there  before 
long  ?" 

"Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  had  some  very 
serious  thoughts  of  making  myself  visible  up  that  way — 
though,  being  so  much  of  a  stranger  in  this  country,  I 
have  been  almost  afraid  to  venture  without  a  letter  of 
introduction." 

"  Sir,"  returned  Walter,  "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  com- 
plimenting a  man  to  his  face ;  but  in  this  case,  I  will  say, 
that  your  own  countenance  would  have  been  quite  suflficient 
to  convince  us  of  your  right  to  the  title  of  gentleman — 
and  that  alone  would  have  given  you  a  claim  to  our  hos- 
pitality— to  say  nothing  of  your  generous  endeavors  to 
befriend  a  relative  who  is  now  no  more,  and  for  an  account 
of  whose  death  we  are  indebted  to  you." 

"  Well,"  returned  I,  laughing ;  "  as  to  the  marks  of  a 
gentleman  being  so  conspicuous  in  my  countenance,  I 
have  only  to  reply,  that,  as  we  look  so  much  alike,  even 
modesty  will  not  require  me  to  deny  the  *  soft  impeach- 
ment.* But  you  spoke  of  your  cousin,  Thomas  Moreland, 
whom  I  saw  fall  a  victim  to  that  ruinous  vice,  gambling— 
liow  did  his  poor  mother  receive  the  news  of  his  death  ?" 

"  Very  hard,  indeed, — in  fact  she  will  not  long  survive 
him." 

"  Your  sister  feared  as  much.  Poor  woman  !  hers  has 
been  a  life  of  sore  affliction."^ 

"It  has,  indeed,"  sighed  my  companion;  "and  the 
expectation  of  a  speedy  death  now  appears  to  be  her  only 
consolation." 


16  CLARA   MORELAND.  * 

"  The  fate  of  her  son  was  a  sad  but  salutary  lesson  to 
me,"  I  rejoined.  "  I  had  before  heard  of  the  dire  conse- 
quences which  oft-times  ensue  from  gaming;  but  here 
was  a  case  in  which  the  evils  of  it  were  so  forcibly  brought 
home  to  me,  that  over  his  solitary  grave  I  vowed  a  solemn 
vow  to  Heaven,  that  I  would  never  play  again  !" 

"  Keep  that  vow,  sir  !  sacredly  keep  it !"  cried  my  new 
friend,  with  almost  startling  energy,  as  he  took  a  quick 
turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  room.  "  For,"  he  added, 
after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "  the  man  who  gambles,  perils 
body  and  soul.  Ay,  beware  of  it,  my  friend!"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "  for  he  who  enters  the  gambler's  den,  passes  the 
portals  of  hell.  I — "  He  was  evidently  on  the  point  of 
making  some  confession ;  but  stopped,  and  with  some  con- 
fusion in  his  manner,  added,  changing  the  subject :  "  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Corpus  Christi,  Taylor's  head-quarters, 
where  I  have  some  business  to  transact  for  my  father. 
The  next  steamer  for  that  place  goes  out  in  a  couple  of 
hours,  and  my  passage  on  her  is  already  engaged.  I  shall 
not,  I  trust,  be  absent  many  days;  and  on  my  return 
hither,  may  I  not  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  your  com 
pany  to  Houston?" 

I  assured  him  that  nothing  would  afford  me  more 
delight ;  and  that  if  I  found  myself  able  to  travel  by  that 
wime,  he  might  count  on  my  accepting  his  kind  invitation. 

After  some  further  conversation,  he  took  his  leave,  and 
1  fell  into  a  delightful  reverie  on  love  and  Clara ! 


CHAPTER    11. 


THE   HOME   OF   CLARA. 


It  was  on  oiie  of  the  most  delightful  days  of  delightful 
October,  that,  in  company  with  Walter  Moreland,  I 
stepped  from  the  boat  to  a  carriage,  and  was  driven 
through  the  pleasant  streets  of  Houston,  to  the  abode  ofi 
one  who  already  had  a  hold  upon  my  heart  such  as  none 
of  her  sex  had  ever  had  before.  Yes,  I  was  about  to 
behold  Clara  for  the  second  time — to  gaze  upon  her  lovely 
features,  bright  eyes,  and  hear  again  that  melodious  voice, 
which  had  exercised  over  me  such  a  spell  ere  we  ever  met. 
It  were  vain  for  me  to  attempt  to  analyze  my  feelings — 
to  resolve  to  simple  elements  that  strange  compound  in  my 
heart  which  is  known  by  the  term  of  love.  Hopes  I  had 
— fears  and  doubts — delightful  anticipations  and  tremulous 
misgivings.  What  would  be  her  reception  of  me?  It 
would  be  cordial,  I  flattered  myself,  from  what  her  brother 
had  told  me,  and  from  the  fa^t  that  I  had  come  home  with 
him,  an  invited  guest,  to  remain  for  a  week  or  two,  or 
longer.  But  would  there  be  any  evidence  in  her  manner 
that  she  had  my  interest  at  heart  beyond  the  polite 
etiquette  of  good  breeding  ?  In  short,  should  I  find  her 
heart-whole  ?  and  if  not,  what  part  had  I  in  her  being 
otherwise  ?  As  thus  I  pondered,  occasionally  replying  to 
my  companion's  remarks,  the  carriage  entered  a  broad, 
beautiful  street,  and  presently  turned  through  a  gate  into 
a  large,  handsome  inclosure.  Thence  moving  up  a  cir- 
cular, well  shaded  avenue,  past  a  small  pond,  on  whose 
bosom  a  few  ducks  were  lazily  sailing,  it  approached  a 

2*  (17) 


18  CLARA   MORELAND. 


large,  fine-looking  mansion,  of  a  rather  cumbrous  style  of 
architecture,  which  stood  on  the  brow  of  an  eminence,  and 
commanded  a  view  of  the  town  and  the  river,  and  of  a 
broad,  level,  beautiful  prairie,  which  stretched  away  in 
the  rear  beyond  the  enclosure. 

As  we  drew  up  before  the  portico,  the  first  object  I 
beheld  was  Clara,  as  she  came  tripping  down  the  steps  to 
welcome  her  brother  home.  Just  as  she  reached  the  car- 
riage, Tom,  who  accompanied  me,  had  dismounted  and 
opened  the  door.  As  I  was  nearest  to  her,  she  did  not 
perceive  her  brother,  -who  had  purposely  drawn  himself 
up  in  one  corner;   but  holding  her  hand  out  tome,  said: 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come — I  have  such  news 
for  you.  But  heavens  !  Walter,  how  pale  you  look  ! — are 
you  ill?" 

"  I  believe  this  is  not  the  first  time  Miss  Clara  Moreland 
has  mistaken  me  for  her  brother,"  I  returned,  playfully. 

"  Why,  as  I  live,  it  is  Mr.  Walton  !"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise,  blushing  to  the  temples.  "  Ah,  you  rogue  !  I 
see  you  now,"  she  continued,  peering  in  at  her  brother, 
who  had  betrayed  his  presence  by  a  hearty  laugh.  "  This 
is  another  of  your  innocent  jokes,  is  it  ?" 

"Faith,  I  think  it  is  one  of  your  own,  Clara;  for 
something  like  it,  you  know,  once  occurred  during  my 
absence.  Well,  if  you  want  to  kiss  him  again,  in  mistake 
for  me,  I  will  turn  my  head." 

"  Goodness  knows  I  think  it  is  pretty  well  turned 
already,"  cried  Clara,  laughing  gaily,  to  cover  her  confu- 
sion. "Would  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Walton,"  she  con 
tinned,  turning  to  me,  the  color  still  as  deep  as  ever  on 
her  beautiful  features — "  Walter  is  actually  in  love  with  a 
young  lady,  who,  report  says,  doesn't  care  a  straw  for 
him." 

"  Well,  that  is  certainly  a   very  interesting  piece  of 


THE   HOME   OF  CLARA.  19 


intelligence  to  a  gentleman  who  is  my  very  counterpart  in 
looks,"  returned  Walter,  tapping  her  under  the  chin,  as 
he  alighted  from  the  carriage.  "  That  is  as  much  as  to 
say,  a  gentleman  of  his  personal  appearance*  cannot  he 
Buccessful  with  your  sex — which,  to  say  the  least,  is  very 
complimentary." 

*' Oh,  you  mad-cap!  you  provoking  teaze!  you  know  I 
didn't  mean  any  such  thing,"  rejoined  Clara,  clapping  her 
soft,  white  hand  over  his  mouth.  "  Do  not  mind  him,  Mr. 
Walton  !  If  you  do  look  like  him,  I  will  wager  the  resem- 
blance ends  in  looks.  But  here  comes  papa,  and  so  I  will 
leave  you;"  and  she  went  bounding  up  the  steps,  with  the 
airy  lightness  of  the  fawn,  whispering  a  word  or  two  to  her 
father  as  she  passed  him. 

The  latter  now  cailie  toward  me,  and  Walter  hastened 
to  introduce  us. 

*'  Happy  of  your  acquaintance,  sir,"  returned  Colonel 
Moreland :  "  I  have  heard  Clara  speak  of  you.  You 
knew  my  nephew,  Tom — or  rather,  saw  him  die,  I  under- 
stand. He  might  have  been  a  clever  youth,  had  he 
avoided  dissipation.  Well,  come,  walk  in !  walk  in  !  Bless 
me!"  he  continued,  taking  another  look  at  me — "Why, 
what  a  likeness  !     Walter,  he  ought  to  be  your  brother." 

And  so  I  intend  to  be,  I  thought  to  myself. 

"Yes,"  answered  Walter,  "  we  could  pass  very  well  for 
twins  even." 

"  Curious  are  the  freaks  of  nature — physiology  is  an 
interesting  science,  Mr.  Walton.  Is  he  yours  ?"  pointing 
to  Tom. 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"Fine  boy,  sir!  fine  boy!  good  build!  good  eye. 
Would  you  like  to  sell  him  ?" 

"  No,  Colonel,  Tom  and  I  can  only  be  parted  by  death." 

"Aha!  strong  attachment.     Well,  come,  follow  me;" 


20  CLARA  MORELAND.  "^ 

and  the  father  of  my  intended,  as  I  already  began  to 
regard  him,  went  humming  up  the  steps,  and  ushered  me 
into  a  large,  fine  drawing-room,  richly,  but  somewhat 
quaintly,  furnished. 

Colonel  Moreland  was,  in  some  respects,  a  character — 
by  which  I  mean  a  personage  distinguished  from  the  many 
by  certain  peculiarities.  He  was  tall,  muscular,  but  not 
what  is  termed  stout.  His  age  I  judged  to  be  somewhere 
between  forty-five  and  fifty.  His  hair  was  quite  gray, 
which  gave  him  a  venerable  appearance,  and  the  cast 
of  his  countenance  was  such  as  to  add  a  certain  degree  of 
dignity.  His  eye  was  dark,  bright,  and  shrewd  ;  and  his 
features  generally  had  the  strongly  marked  outlines  of  the 
Scotch.  He  had  high  cheek  bones,  a  large  nose  and 
mouth,  and  around  the  latter  the  lines  indicated  decision 
and  firmness  amounting  almost  to  stubborness.  He  was  a 
little  bald  on  the  top  of  his  head,  which  made  his  broad, 
high  forehead  appear  still  broader  and  higher ;  and  alto- 
gether he  had  quite  a  commanding,  intelligent  appearance. 
He  dressed  plainly,  and  was  devoid  of  ostentation.  He 
had  pride,  however,  and  was' ambitious,  both  for  himself 
and  family.  He  was  a  man  in  general  of  few  words; 
and  these,  as  is  the  case  with  people  that  speak  little, 
were  ever  to  the  point.  He  might  be  slow  in  making  up  his 
mind  to  any  thing  new — ^but  when  once  he  had  settled 
upon  a  thing,  right  or  wrong,  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
change  him. 

An  early  pioneer  in  the  wilds  of  Texas,  he  had  grown 
up,  politically  speaking,  with  the  country,  and  I  believe 
he  really  had  her  interest  at  heart.  *  During  her  struggle 
for  independence,  he  commanded  a  regiment  under  - 
Houston,  who  was  his  personal  friend  ;  and  subsequently 
he  had  been  elected  a  member  of  the  Texan  Congress— a 
post  of  honor  which  he  still  held.     Though  a  public  man, 


THE   HOME   OF   CLARA.  21 


he  had  not  neglected  his  own  private  interest;  and  by 
speculating  to  some  considerable  extent  in  lands,  he  had 
amassed  quite  a  fortune.  He  owned  a  large  cotton  planta- 
tion some  miles  away,  which  was  worked  by  negroes  under 
charge  of  an  overseer  and  agent,  and  from  which  he 
derived  a  handsome  income.  He  had  taken  some  pains 
with  the  education  of  his  children,  three  in  number — 
Walter,  Clara,  and  Mary — and  altogether  I  found  the 
Morelands  were  among  the  first  families  of  the  Republic 
—or  State,  as  I  should  now  call  it — of  Texas. 

Bidding  me  be  seated,  the  Colonel  went  out ;  and  pre- 
sently Clara  reappeared,  accompanied  by  her  mother  and 
sister.  Mrs.  Moreland — a  pale,  handsome,  intellectual 
woman — I  found  to  be  a  perfect  lady — mild,  affable,  and 
winning  though  not  a  great  talker ;  but  Mary,  unlike  her 
in  this  respect,  was  a  perfect  chatterbox,  full  of  spirit  and 
raillery.  The  latter  was  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  with 
black  hair  and  eyes,  and  very  pretty  features,  which  were 
seldom  in  repose.  I  did  not  think  her  as  handsome  as 
Clara ;  for  I  have  a  partiality  for  blue  eyes,  sunny  hair, 
and  a  light  complexion,  and  in  this  respect  Clara  seemed 
perfect.  There  was  a  family  resemblance  between  the 
two — but  Clara  seemed  to  me  more  dignified,  graceful,  and 
lovely.  Clara,  however,  was  three  years  Mary's  senior ; 
and  as  I  have  acknowledged  to  being  in  love  with  her,  I 
suppose  the  reader  will  not  set  me  down  as  an  impartial 
critic. 

Both  Mary  and  her  mother  were  struck  with  the  resem- 
blance between  Walter  and  myself;  and  as  this  opened 
the  way  to  conversation,  without  going  through  the  lacka- 
daisical formalities  generally  incident  upon  the  introduc- 
tion of  strangers,  I  soon  felt  at  my  ease,  and  began  to 
regard  my  new  friends  as  old  acquaintances. 

"Are  you  not  paler  than  usual?"  inquired  Clara,  in  the 


22  CLARA   MORELAND. 

course  of  conversation,  and  in  a  tone  that  I  fancied  had  a 
touch  of  feeling  in  it. 

"  Yes — I  have  been  confined  to  my  room,  of  late,  by- 
reason  of  my  wounds." 

"  Wounds  ?"  she  exclaimed,  quickly,  in  a  tone  and  witk 
a  look  of  anxious  surprise — "What  wounds?  have  you 
been  wounded  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  an  affray  with  a  gang  of  desperadoes.** 

I  saw  Clara's  cheek  pale  as  I  said  this ;  but  ere  she 
could  make  any  reply,  Mary  ran  up  to  me,  with  the 
freedom  of  an  old  acquaintance,  exclaiming : 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us  all  about  it,  Mr.  Walton—do !  Oh, 
it  is  so  romantic !  isn't  it,  sister  ?  My !  did  you  really 
have  a  fight  with  robbers  ?  Dear  me  !  I  wish  I  had  bfeen 
there  :  I'm  so  fond  of  adventure." 

"  Hush,  daughter — you  do  not  consider  what  you  are 
saying,"  chided  Mrs.  Moreland. 

"  Yes  but  I  do,  mamma — only  try  me,  and  see  if  I 
don't." 

I  told  them  in  brief  my  story — of  the  ensnaring  of 
Viola,  and  her  providential  deliverance — of  the  assault 
made  upon  us  while  crossing  the  country  from  the  Brazos 
to  Galveston — with  a  detail  of  the  fight,  and  of  my  own 
narrow  escape  from  death  by  the  timely  appearance  and 
heroic  conduct  of  my  faithful  servant  Tom ;  and  concluded 
with  the  disclosure  of  the  dying  St.  Auburn  and  the 
marriage  of  Harley  and  Viola. 

Each  of  my  listeners  was  deeply  interested  in  my  recital 
— but  each  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  herself.  Mrs.  More- 
land  heard  me  through  with  a  mother's  feelings  and 
sympathies ;  Clara,  I  fancied,  saw  in  myself  the  hero  of 
the  tale;  and  while  speaking  of  my  narrow  escape,  I 
perceived  that  her  lovely  features  were  very  pale,  and  that 
fihe  was  unusually  excited;  but  Mary  was  one  glow  of 


Clara's  homk.  9.^ 


delight  throughout;  and  the  moment  I  had  done,  she 
exclaimed,  clapping  her  hands : 

"Oh,  charming!  delightful!  so  romantic!  How  I 
should  like  to  have  been  in  Viola's  place !" 

"Come,  come,  child — no  more  of  such  nonsense,'* 
chided  her  mother. 

"Nonsense?"  echoed  Mary,  pouting  her  pretty  Cips. 
"I  do  believe,  mamma,  there  is  no  romance  in  you." 

Mrs.  Moreland  smiled. 

"  No,  child,  my  days  of  romance  are  gone  by." 

"And  mine  are  just  coming  on,"  was  the  reply. 

Walter  and  his  father  now  came  in  together;  and 
Mary,  running  up  to  the  latter,  began  to  relate  to  him  the 
Btory  she  had  just  heard.  ^ 

"Ay,  ay,"  he  interrupted — "Walter  has  "just  been 
telling  me  something  of  this.  And  so,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  me,  "  you  think  this  Count  D'Estang,  as  he  is 
styled,  is  a  counterfeiter,  eh?" 

"  I  have  good  reason  for  thinking  so.  Colonel." 

"Yes,  and  I  doubt  not  he  is  more  than  that,"  he 
pursued.  "About  a  year  since,  I  was  passing  through 
that  part  of  the  country,  with  a  span  of  as  fine  horses  as 
can  be  found  in  this  region.  I  stopped  at  a  village  inn ; 
and  while  there,  a  gentleman  accosted  me,  wishing  to 
purchase  the  animals.  I  told  him  they  were  not  for  sale. 
He  inquired  where  I  resided ;  and  on  my  informing  him, 
and  giving  him  my  name,  he  replied  that,  in  the  course  of 
a  week  or  two,  he  expected  to  visit  Houston,  and  should 
take  the  trouble  of  calling  on  me,  in  hopes  that  by 
that  time  I  might  change  my  mind.  Well,  he  called,  but 
I  was  not  at  home ;  and  he  left  his  card,  Count  D'Estang. 
Subsequently  he  called  again — but  I  still  refused  to  sell. 
He  went  away,  after  having  been  to  look  at  my  horses  in 
the  stable,  and  two  Teeks  from  that  time  they  were  stolen. 


24  CLARA  MORELAND. 


I  do  not  know  why — perhaps  because  I  did  not  like  his 
looks — but  from  that  day  to  this,  I  have  never  been  able 
to  divest  myself  of  the  idea  that  he  had  some  hand  in 
taking  them  away." 

*  Very  likely,"  I  returned ;  "  for  I  consider  him  capable 
of  any  crime." 

"  Well,  well,  we  may  be  able  to  trap  him  yet.  I  will 
write  at  once  to  the  Sheriff  of  Brazoria,  who  is  a  personal 
friend  of  mine,  and  tell  him  your  story,  and  what  I 
suspect." 

The  day  gradually  wore  away ;  and  the  more  I  saw  of 
Clara,  the  more  I  thanked  Fortune  for  her  favors.  As  if 
to  charm  away  the  time,  she  sat  down  to  a  fine-toned 
piano,  and  played  and  sang  several  songs.  I  was 
enchanted.  Had  she  been  as  ugly  as  Milton  has  described 
Sin,  one's  heart  must  have  warmed  toward  her,  for  her 
melodious  voice — so  sweet,  so  touching.  It  was  this  voice, 
so  used,  that  had  magnetically  drawn  me  to  her  at  first ; 
and  therefore  the  reader  cannot  be  surprised  that  I  was 
now  in  a  state  of  rapture. 

Being  pressed  to  sing  in  turn,  and  believing  I  possessed 
some  little  talent  in  that  way,  I  took  up  a  guitar  which 
stood  by  the  piano,  and  gave  them,  "  Come  Share  My 
Cottage,  Gentle  Maid" — throwing  my  whole  soul  into  the 
words,  for  I  felt  every  line.  Perhaps  Clara  thought  so ; 
for  ere  I  had  done,  her  eye,  which  at  first  was  fixed  on 
mine,  drooped  to  the  ground,  and  a  warm  glow  came  upon 
her  cheeks  and  remained  there. 

"Beautiful!"  murmured  Mrs.  Moreland,  when  I  had 
finished. 

"Too  sentimental  by  half!"  cried  Mary,  with  a  laugh: 
"isn't  it,  Clara?" 

"Eh?"  exclaimed  the  latter,  starting  in  some  confusion; 


CLARA'S  HOME.  25 


for  her  mind  had  evidently  followed  the  words  of  the  song, 
and  she  had  forgotten  that  eyes  were  upon  her. 

"Why,  one  would  think  that  you  fancied  the  words 
intended  for  yourself,"  said  Mary,  roguishly. 

Clara  now  blushed  crimson ;  and  I  much  fear  I  did  not 
remain  any  too  pale ;  at  all  events,  I  know  I  felt  very 
red. 

"  Come,  come,  Mary — you  are  too  rude — too  wild," 
again  chided  her  mother ;  while  Walter,  I  fancied,  smiled 
to  himself — though  he  appeared  not  to  notice  us.  The 
Colonel  was  not  present. 

Mary  glided  round  to  my  chair,  and  said,  in  a  whisper : 

"Don't  sing  any  more  such  sentimental  songs,  Mr. 
Walton,  will  you?" 

"Why,  I  thought  you  were  fond  of  the  romantic,"  I 
replied. 

"So  I  am;  but  something  wild,  grand,  terrible;"  and 
her  black  eyes  sparkled  with  enthusiasm.  And  then  she 
added,  archly:  "It's  of  no  use  for  you  to  sing  *  Come 
Share  My  Cottage'  to  Clara." 

I  felt  the  blood  rush  to  my  temples ;  but  I  affected  to  be 
amused,  ^nd,  in  a  careless  tone,  inquired : 

"Why  so?" 

"Why,  because  her  cottage  is  engaged;"  and  she 
bounded  away  with  a  merry  laugh. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  describe  my  feelings  for  the 
next  five  minutes.  I  felt  confused,  vexed,  and  foolish,  and 
the  last  sensation  I  think  predominated.  Had  I  really 
made  a  faux  fas  in  my  first  love  adventure  ?  and  was  I 
really  seeking  the  affections  of  one  already  engaged? 
Engaged,  forsooth !  How  that  word  grated  on  my  feel- 
ings !  But  no !  I  could  not  think  it  true ;  and  yet  my 
heart  somehow  misgave  me.     But  I  will  know,  I  thought 

3 


26  CLARA    MORELAND. 

to  myself;  and  if  I  find  my  fears  confirmed,  then  farewell 
to  Texas  and  my  first  romantic  love-dream. 

"My!  sister!  just  see  how  pale  Mr.  Walton  looks!" 
"were  the  words  which  aroused  me  from  my  reverie,  and 
which  proceeded  from  the  lips  of  Mary,  whom  I  now 
began  to  regard  as  a  regular  teaze. 

I  looked  up,  and  saw  all  eyes  fixed  upon  me. 

"Are  you  not  well?"  asked  Clara,  with  a  look  of 
anxiety,  which  made  me  exclaim,  mentally : 

"  If  her  hand  is  engaged,  her  heart  is  not." 

"A  little  faint,"  I 'returned  to  her  inquiry.  "A  glass 
of  water,  if  convenient." 

Walter  sprung  to  the  bell-pull,  and  the  crystal  liquid 
was  soon  produced. 

"Perhaps  you  find  it  too  close  here,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Moreland.     "Better  step  out  and  take  the  air." 

I  availed  myself  of  her  suggestion,  and  took  a  short 
stroll  with  Walter ;  and  we  conversed  on  various  subjects, 
but  touched  not  upon  the  one  that  lay  nearest  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  III. 


A   MOONLIGHT   INTERVIEW. 


It  was  a  calm,  lovely  night,  the  one  following  my 
arrival  in  Houston,  and  the  round,  full  moon,  just  risen  in 
the  East,  was  pouring  a  flood  of  mellow  light  over  a 
beautiful  landscape.  One  or  two  bright  stars  were  visible, 
as  though  keeping  watch  while  their  companions  slept.  A 
certain  dreamy  stillness  seemed  to  pervade  Heaven  and 
earth — a  kind  of  holy  calm — as  if  great  Nature  were 
taking  her  repose.  Occasionally  the  song  of  some  night 
warbler  came  floating  on  the  balmy  air,  and,  dying  away 
in  sweet  cadence,  left  all  again  still.  It  was  a  scene  and 
an  hour  for  meditation  and  for  love. 

I  stood  within  an  orange  grove,  through  whose  spread- 
ing branches  the  bright  moonhght  streamed,  and  crinkled 
on  the  teeming  earth,  and  seemed  to  nestle  among  the 
sleeping  flowers.  It  was  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  which 
looked  ofi"  upon  a  wide  stretch  of  prairie,  over  which  the 
queen  of  night  spread  her  rays  like  a  great  veil  of  silver. 
Beside  me  stood  one  that  made  the  pulse  of  life  beat 
faster,  the  warm  blood  course  quicker,  and  the  heart  labor 
under  powerful  emotions. 

I  am  one  of  those  who  believe  there  is  a  suitable  time 
for  every  thing — that  Nature,  in  her  multifold  variety,  has 
seasons  peculiarly  adapted  to  all  the  difi'erent  passions  and 
emotions  which  may  exist  in  the  human  breast.  The 
early  morning,  for  instance — the  awakening  of  day,  with  a 
burnished,  unclouded  sky,  up  which  rolls  the  bright  sun  in 

(27) 


28  CLARA   MORELAND. 

glorious  splendor,  amid  the  sweet  songs  of  all  animated 
nature — ever  seems  to  me  a  time  for  rejoicing,  when  the 
thoughts  should  fly  upward  to  the  Creator  in  a  heartfelt 
thanksgiving.  Then  come  the  hours  of  business,  or  of 
pleasure,  with  a  season  of  rest,  when  the  mind  relaxes  and 
loses  its  cares  and  its  troubles,  perchance  in  a  brief 
oblivion  of  sleep.  There  is  something  solemn,  sad  and 
Bweet  in  the  dying  day,  when  the  fiery  sun  is  quenched  in 
a  golden  sea,  and  the  hum  of  busy  life  falls  gradually  off 
to  tranquillity,  and  the  soft  shades  of  coming  night  steal 
imperceptibly  on,  one  after  another,  reminding  us  of  the 
going  out  of  life  and  the  shutting  in  of  death.  The  roar 
of  the  storm,  with  its  rushing  winds,  flashing  lightnings, 
and  crashing  thunders,  stirs  up  the  mind  to  sublimity; 
and  if  the  spirit  be  not  tranquil,  it  readily  finds  a  wild 
harmony  in  the  raging  elements.  But  a  soft,  clear, 
serene,  moonlight  night — when  the  silver  veil  of  Luna  falls 
gently  upon  the  dewy  earth,  and  gives  to  the  scene  ihe 
matchless  charm  of  picturesque  light  and  shade,  and  the 
stillness  is  only  broken  by  the  melodious  songs  of  the 
night-singers — then,  of  all  times,  the  soul  seems  best  fitted 
for  the  holy  commune  of  love. 

So  at  least  I  thought  and  felt,  as  alone  I  stood  with 
Clara  Moreland,  amid  the  shade  of  an  orange  grove,  in 
the  rear  of  her  father's  mansion,  on  the  night  following 
my  arrival  in  Houston.  Walter,  Clara,  Mary,  and  myself, 
had  together  left  the  dwelling;  and  after  wandering  for 
an  hour  or  more  through  the  garden,  among  the  sleeping 
flowers,  Clara  and  I,  as  if  by  mutual  arrangement,  had 
become  separated  from  our  companions,  and  had  continued 
on  beyond  the  pale  of  the  garden,  each  as  it  seemed 
so  much  buried  in  thought  as  scarcely  to  give  heed  to  our 
Bteps.  From  some  cause — and  I  flattered  myself  I  could 
divine  the  cause — Clara  had  been  silent  all  the  evening ; 


A  MOONLIGHT   INTERVIEW.  29 

and  often  I  caught  her  sighing,  as  if  sad  at  heart.  A3 
with  her  arm  through  mine  we  strolled  to  the  point 
mentioned,  my  heart  beat  fast  with  strange,  powerful 
emotions. 

I  have  more  than  once  said  that  I  was  in  love — but 
whether  I  had  awakened  such  a  feeling  in  the  breast 
of  my  companion,  I  could  only  judge  from  indications  that 
might  after  all  proceed  from  other  causes.  I  was  anxious 
to  know;  for  the  words  of  Mary,  whether  in  earnest 
or  jest,  had  started  doubts  and  fears ;  and  what  better 
opportunity  than  the  present  to  ascertain,  I  thought,  as  we 
strolled  on  in  silence.  True,  to  introduce  such  a  subject 
now,  with  so  brief  an  acquaintance,  seemed  ill-timed  and 
premature;  but  if  I  missed  the  present  opportunity,  it 
might  be  long  ere  another  as  favorable  should  occur ;  and 
under  present  circumstances  I  did  not  care  to  remain  in 
suspense.  I  therefore  made  up  my  mind  to  venture  in 
words  what  lay  nearest  my  heart ;  but  the  next  moment  I 
fairly  trembled  at  the  idea  of  making  a  beginning. 

It  is  easy  for  our  sex  to  flatter  the  other— to  pay 
frivolous  compliments  on  the  grace  of  person,  the  beauty 
of  countenance — to  say  we  admire  and  are  delighted, 
when  our  own  hearts  are  untouched,  and  we  little 
care  in  what  manner  our  words  are  received;  but  it 
is  a  very  different  thing,  when  emotions,  that  language 
cannot  portray,  are  struggling  within  us,  aroused  by  the 
presence  of  an  object  for  whom  we  feel  we  could  lay  down 
our  life-  and  deem  it  a  pleasant  sacrifice.  Let  no  woman — 
and  I  say  it  with  due  consideration — put  too  much  faith  in 
the  words  of  the  man  who  tells  her  in  fluent  and  courtly 
phrase  he  adores  her ;  for  the  true  adoration  of  the  heart 
may  make  itself  known  by  looks,  and  signs,  and  actions, 
but  the  tongue  is  seldom  the  first  messenger.  I  have 
heard  those, who  could  and  did  boast  of  having  made  love 

3* 


30  CLARA    MORELAND. 

to  twenty  damsels,  in  flowery  speech  and  graceful  attitude, 
acknowledge  to  having  stood  abashed,  silent,  and  awk- 
ward in  the  presence  of  one  for  whom  they  really  felt 
what  they  had  only  professed  to  feel  heretofore. 

Thus  sil^^tly  pondering  on  the  way  in  which  I  should 
begin  to  give  voice  to  the  feelings  that  so  deeply  agitated 
my  breast,  we  reached  the  point  I  have  mentioned  amid 
the  orange-grove,  when  Clara^  who  seemed  suddenly  to 
comprehend  where  she  was,  said,  in  a  hurried,  excited 
tone  : 

"Why,  whither  are  we  going?  let  us  return." 

"  Stay,  Clara — Miss  Moreland — one  moment — I  have 
something  to  say  to  you,"  I  returned,  in  a  low,  eager, 
agitated  tone ;  and  I  took  her  hand,  which  I  felt  tremble 
in  mine,  aB  she  made  a  slight  attempt  to  withdraw  it. 

"  Why,  where  is  Walter  and  Mary  ?"  she  cried,  looking 
around  her,  and  turning  as  if  to  retrace  her  steps. 

"  They  are  not  far  off,  I  think — but  what  I  have  to  say 
is  for  your  ear  alone,"  I  replied,  still  retaining  her  tand. 

She  drooped  her  head  in  silence,  and  I  could  feel  her 
soft  hand  quiver,  as  a  tremor  ran  through  her  frame — but 
she  made  no  further  attempt  to  withdraw  it.  Now  had 
arrived  that  time  and  opportunity  I  had  long  wished  for ; 
but  my  tongue  refused  speech,  and  my  very  thoughts 
seemed  jumbled  into  chaos.  How  was  I  to  begin  ?  what 
was  I  to  say  first  ?  Something  must  be  said,  and  that 
quickly,  for  Clarar  was  waiting  in  tremulous  expectation. 

"Miss  Moreland,"  I  began — "or  rather  Clara — if  you 
will  permit  me  so  to  call  you — I — "  Here  I  stopped,  and 
cleared  my  throat,  and  coughed  a  little,  while  my  blood 
rushed  through  my  throbbing  veins  at  furnace  heat :  "  I 
have  much  wished  for  a  circumstance — I  mean  a  privilege 
— I  should  say — ahem — an  opportunity — to — to — "  Here 
I  felt  myself  breaking  down,  the  perspiration  started  from 


A   MOONLIGHT  INTERVIEW.  31 


every  pore,  and  in  an  awful  agony,  like  a  drowning  man 
clutching  at  a  rope,  I  clutched  at  words,  and  gasped: 
*'  In  short,  you  must  have  perceived — *' 

''Oh,  let  us  return,  Mr.  Walton!"  interrupted  Clara, 
hurriedly,  in  great  agitation — "I  fear  we  shall  be 
missed." 

''Nay,  dear  Clara,  hear  me  out !"  I  cried,  still  keeping 
her  hand,  which  she  now  made  several  attempts  to  with- 
draw. "Nay,  I  must  be  heard,"  I  continued,  more 
resolutely.  "I  will  detain  you  but  a  minute;  and  cer- 
tainly you  will  not  refuse  me  so  brief  a  point  of  time  !" 
■  "Go  on  !"  she  murmured,  faintly. 

"You  must  have  perceived.  Miss  Clara,  from  my 
conduct,  siuco  our  first  meeting,"  I  resumed,  "that  you 
have  awakened  in  my  breast  feelings  which  may  never 
slumber  again;  and  unless  I  greatly  err,  you  do  not 
altogether  regard  me  with  indifference.  Nay,  turn  not 
away,  and  do  not  withdraw  your  hand;  but  speak,  and 
tell  me — is  it  not  so  ?  Perhaps  you  think  me  bold, 
premature,  in  thus  venturing  to  address  you,  whom  I  have 
known  but  a  brief,  time;  and  if  you  so  censure  me,  I 
cannot  deny  you  have  justice  on  your  side ;  but  love,  lady, 
will  sometimes  break  through  all  formalities — leap  over  all^ 
bounds  of  decorum — and  this  I  must  plead  in  extenuation 
of  my  offence,  if  offence  it  be. 

"  Yes,  Clara,"  I  went  on,  in  a  low,  eager,  passionate 
strain — my  thoughts,  lately  so  stifled,  how  rushing  forward  % 
for  utterance,  like  the  waters  of  a  dammed  up  stream  when 
its  obstructions  first  give  way:  "  Yes,  Clara,  be  not  angry 
at  the  bold,  presumptuous  declaration,  that  I  love  you  — 
that  I  loved  almost  ere  I  saw  you — and  that  since  the 
moment  our  eyes  met,  you  have  scarcely  been  absent  from 
my  thoughts.  You  are  the  first  to  whom  thes0  lips  ever 
made  such  an  avowal — nor  should  ihxij  now  venture  to  tell 


32  CLARA    MORELAND. 


you  so,  but  tl^at  I  feel  it  necessary  to  know  on  "what 
ground  I  stand,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  pledge  me  affec- 
tion in  return — for  as  yet  you  know  nothing  of  me,  beyond 
what  I  have  told  you  ;  but  I  am  anxious  to  learn  if  your 
heart  is  otherwise  engaged  ;  and  if  not,  I  would  have  your 
sweet  voice  tell  me  that  I  have  not  offended,  and  that  I 
may  live  in  hope,  even  though  you  promise  nothing 
beyond. 

"  But  I  cannot  think  you  regard  me  with  indifference ; 
for  I  have  narrowly  watched  and  studied  your  fair  features 
at  different  times ;  and  though  little  experienced  in  matters 
of  the  heart,  I  flatter  myself  I  have  seen  there  signs 
which  bespeak  emotions  akin  to  my  own.  And  yet,  from 
words  your  sister  let  fall,,  my  breast  has  been  chilled  by 
doubts  and  fears. 

"I  have  said,  dear  Clara,  that  I  love  you;  I  have  said 
that  you  have  scarcely  been  absent  from  my  thoughts ;  and 
I  now  add,  that  when  my  body  has  been  racked  with  pain, 
with  no  friend  and  companion  near  to  lighten  my  solitude 
with  a  single  word  of  consolation,  I  have  made  the  other- 
wise heavy  and  tedious  hours  glide  pleasantly  by  in  think- 
ing of  you :  how  deep  then,  how  pure,  how  powerful  are 
the  emotions  which  your  own  sweet  self  calls  into  being  ! 
and  if  I  thus  love  one  who  can  never  be  mine,  Heaven 
only  knows  what  may  be  the  final  consequences.  To  see 
you,  to  tell  you  this,  was  my  motive  in  coming  hither : 
and  I  now  ask  you  to  answer  me,  candidly  and  sincerely, 
if  I  am  guilty  of  offence?  or  if  you  can  respond  to  the 
sentiments  of  my  heart?" 

I  paused,  and  Clara  trembled  violently:  for  some  mo- 
ments she  did  not  reply :  but  at  length  she  seemed  to 
master  her  feelings,  and  in  a  low  tone,  said  : 

"  It  would  have  been  better  for  both  of  us,  Mr.  Walton, 


A  MOONLIGHT  INTERYIETV.  33 


had  we  never  met.     Urge  me  to  say  no  more !    Let  ug 
return.*' 

"Nay,  Miss  Moreland,"  I  replied,  with  a  sense  of  be- 
wilderment and  a  sinking  of  the  heart  that  I  cannot  de- 
scribe— "  let  me  entreat  you,  ere  you  go,  to  explain  youi 
words  !" 

"Not  now!  not  now!"  she  rejoined,  hurriedly:  "I  am 
unequal  to  the  task." 

"It  is  btit  little,"  I  urged,  "to  say  why  it  had  been 
better  for  us  had  we  never  met.  I  do  not  wish  to  pry  into 
your  secrets ;  but  if  another  holds  first  place  in  your 
esteem — or  if  your  heart  holds  not  sentiments  corres- 
ponding to  mine — you  may  surely  tell  me  so ;  and  how- 
ever much  I  may  grieve,  I  promise  you  not  to  get  offended. 
There  are  many  of  our  faculties  that  we  may  cultivate ; 
and,  in  a  great  degree,  shape  to  our  will ;  but  love  is  a 
pure  offspring  of  the  heart,  which  we  cannot  bring  into 
existence,  however  much  we  may  subdue  and  control  it 
afterward :  this  I  know ;  and  therefore  if  you  tell  me 
there  can  never  be  a  tie  between  us  closer  than  that  of 
friendship,  I  shall  take  no  offence,  nor  ever  trouble  you 
with  vain  repinings  at  my  fate." 

To  my  great  surprise,  instead  of  answering  me,  Clara 
burst  into  tears.  I  was  startled — for  the  cause  of  this 
Btrange  emotion  was  beyond  my  conjecture. 

"  Good  heavens  !  Clara,"  I  cried,  "  what  means  this  ? 
why  do  you  weep  ?  I  cannot  believe  I  have  said  any 
thing  to  wound  your  feelings  ;  but  if  so — " 

"No  !"  no  !"  she  interrupted,  hurriedly,  "but — " 

She  paused  and  shuddered. 

"Goon!"  I  urged. 

"No  !  no  !  I  cannot — let  us  return." 

"Well,  then,  be  it  as  you  wish,"  I  rejoined,  rather 
coldly ;  and  I  made  a  movement  to  go. 
3 


I 


34  CLARA   MORELAND. 


"But  you  are  offended  now ?"  she  said,  quickly,  turning 
her  face  up  toward  mine ;  and  I  could  see  by  the  moon- 
light, which  fell  upon  it  through  the  trees,  that  it  was  very 
pale,  and  sad,  and  anxious.  I  was  touched  to  the  heart ; 
but  I  answered  in  the  same  cold  manner : 

"  And  if  I  am,  I  suppose  it  is  a  matter  of  little  mo- 
ment to  Miss  Moreland." 

*'  Nay,  not  so,"  she  replied,  eagerly :  "  I  would  not 
have  you  offended  with  me." 

"  Can  aught  concerning  me  interest  you  then  ?'* 

"Yes!  yes!  every  thing!  That  is,  I*  mean,"  she 
stammered,  turning  her  face  away — "  I  should  not  like  to 
give  you  offence, — I  would  like  to  have  every  one 
friendly." 

"  Clara,"  I  rejoined,  earnestly,  "  there  is  an  under 
current  to  your  strange  manner  which  I  cannot  fathom. 
Either  something  serious  troubles  you,  or  you  are  playing 
a  part  with  me." 

"I  trust  you  do  not  think  the  latter  ?"  she  said,  quickly. 
"  Heaven  knows  my  actions  too  mucli  betray  my  feel- 
ings !" 

"  Then  if  so,  you  do  not  regard  me  with  indifference," 
I  eagerly  rejoined.  "  You  are  silent.  May  I  take  this 
as  a  favorable  augury  ?     May  I  hope — " 

"No!  no!"  she  again  interrupted:  "hope  nothing — 
hope  nothing  ;"  and  again  she  shuddered. 

"  Be  it  so,"  I  returned — "  I  must  even  take  you  at 
your  word.  But  pardon  me  one  more  question  !  Is  your 
heart  engaged  to  another?" 

Clara  seemed  to  struggle  with  herself  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  and  then,  in  a  low  tone,  scarcely  audible,  replied : 

"  The  heart  should  go  with  the  hand." 

"  Ha !  I  thipk  I  understand  you :  then  your  hand  is 
pledged  ?" 


► 


A   MOONLIGHT  INTERVIEW.  35 

"It  is,"  was  faintly  replied. 

For  a  short  time  I  stood  speechless,  motionless ;  and 
then  rousing  myself,  I  rejoined  : 

"  Clara,  (permit  me  still  to  call  you  thus,  at  least  while 
wo  are  alone  together,)  you  say  the  heart  should  go  with 
the  hand;  I  reiterate,  yes,  by  all  means;  but  will  it  in 
your  case  ?  Ha  !  why  turn  'you  silently  away  ?  You 
dare  not  answer  !  Ah  !  you  know  it  will  not.  Oh  !  then 
let  me,  as  a  friend,  as  a  brother,  warn  you  to  beware  how 
you  let  worldly  considerations  influence  you  to  perjure 
yourself  before  God's  holy  altar !" 

"Sir!  this  is  strong  language,"  returned  Clara,  draw- 
ing herself  up  rather  proudly. 

'*  But  it  is  justified  by  the  cause  which  draws  it  forth," 
I  answered. 

"  How  know  you  that,  sir  ?  And  were  it  even  so, 
methinks  it  ill  becomes  one  so  recently  a  stranger,  to 
assume  the  office  of  mentor  to  a  lady  who  has  a  father^ 
mother,  and  brother  at  hand  to  look  to  her  welfare." 

*'  I  crave  your  pardon.  Miss  Moreland  !"  1  rejoined, 
coldly.  "  My  zeal  in  your  behaW  overcame  my  discre- 
tion. I  only  sought  to  warn,  in  a  friendly  manner,  one 
whom  I  thought  would  receive  it  in  the  same  spirit  of 
kindness  in  which  it  was  meant.  I  perceive  my  mistake 
now,  andjfchall  take  care  how  I  offend  again.  AVhen 
agreeableto  you,  we  will  retrace  our  steps  to  your  father's 
dwelling." 

Clara  made  no  reply;  but  drooped  her  head,  as  if 
giving  heed  to  her  steps,  and  we  picked  our  way  back  to 
the  garden  in  silence.  As  we  approached  the  dwelling, 
we  heard  gay  voices ;  and  the  next  moment  could  distin- 
guish that  of  Mary's,  saying,  with  a  ringing  laugh : 

"  Making  love,  for  a  hundred !" 


36  CLARA  MORELAND. 

There  was  a  low  reply ;  and  then  we  heard  "Walter 
exclaim : 

"  This  way,  Will — we'll  soon  find  them." 

I  fancied  I  could  see  Clara  shudder,  as  she  quickened 
her  pace ;  and  a  minute  after  we  met  Walter  and  another 
gentleman  coming  down  the  garden  walk  in  search  of  us. 

*'  Ha  1  here  are  the  wanderers  now  ?"  cried  Walter, 
gailj.  "  We  were  afraid  you  had  got  lost,"  he  continued, 
*'  and  were  on  our  way  to  hunt  you  up.  Mr.  Warncliff, 
Mr.  Walton,"  he  added,  introducing  his  friend. 

We  bowed ;  but  each  in  a  cold,  stiff,  formal  manner,  that 
did  not  express  any  too  much  delight  in  present  acquaint- 
ance, nor  presage  any  very  warm  friendship  to  follow.  The 
truth  was,  one  of  jhose  striking  antipathies,  for  which  one 
can  give  no  satisfactory  reason,  had  suddenly  sprung  up  be- 
tween us.  I  did  not  like  my  new  acquaintance,  and  I  felt 
that  he  regarded  me  with  aversion.  Why  this  was,  it  would 
^ave  been  difficult,  I  think,  for  either  of  us  to  have  said  at 
the  time.  His  name  was  new  to  my  ear — even  if  mine  were 
not  to  his — and  certainly  we  had  never  met  before.  Perhaps 
he  had  heard  of  me — heard  Clara  speak  of  me — and  regarded 
me  with  a  jealous  eye ;  and  true  it  is,  though  I  knew  not 
why,  I  looked  upon  him  as  the  acknowledged  suitor  of  Clara, 
to  whom  her  hand  was  pledged.  Rivals  are'  never  friends  ; 
and  my  heart  whispered  me  we  were  rivals,  and  he  the 
successful  oxie.  As  we  bowed,  our  eyes  met,  for  the  moon- 
'^•"^light  here  fell  full  and  clear  upon  each  face.  A  keen, 
piercing  glance  shot  from  one  to  the  other — a  glance,  as  I 
fancied  and  felt,  of  haughty  defiance.  In  that  moment  of 
time — for  almost  instantly  he  turned  away  to  speak  to' 
Clara — his  person  and  features  became  indelibly  impressed 
upon  my  memory. 

In  height  he  was  rather  tall,  but  slenderly  made,  though 
evidently  possessed  of  considerable  physical  strength.     His 


i 


A  MOONLIGHT  INTERVIEW.  37 


age  I  judged  to  be  about  twenty-five.  His  complexion  was 
light,  with  light  curly  hair,  and  blue  eyes.  His  features 
were  not  devoid  of  beauty,  though  not  to  my  taste.  They 
were  regular ;  and  his  nose,  mouth,  and  chin,  taken  sepa- 
rately, were  certainly  well-formed ;  but  the  expression  of 
the  whole  countenance,  and  particularly  that  of  the  eyes 
and  mouth,  was  to  my  mind  that  of  an  unprincipled  volup- 
tuary ;  and  though  I  now  felt  that  Clara  could  never  be 
aught  to  me,  yet  I  deeply  regretted  that  her  choice,  or 
peradventure  the  choice  of  her  friends,  had  not  fallen  upon 
a  more  worthy  object..  Mr.  Warnclifi"  was  studiously  and 
elegantly  dressed ;  and  his*  short  upper  lip  was  graced  with 
a  mustache,  and  his  chin  with  an  imperial — the  rest  of  his 
face  being  cleanly  shaved.  I  could  not  deny  that  he  had 
seen  good  society  ;  for  his  movements  were  easy  and  grace- 
ful ;  and  his  manner,  save  so  far  as  concerned  myself,  very 
courteous. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Clara,"  he  said,  on  turning  to  her. 
"  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  looking  so  charming  in  the  pale 
moonlight.  I  trust  you  have  had  a  pleasant  walk,  and 
now  feel  inclined  for  a  pleasant  ride.  My  carriage  is  at 
the  door." 

Was  it  fancy?  or  did  she  shrink  back  with  a  slight 
shudder  as  he  proffered  his  arm?  She  took  his  arm, 
however ;  and  then  I  heard  her  say,  in  a  low,  and  as  I 
thought  quavering,  tone : 

"  You  must  excuse  me  to  night,  Mr.  Warncliff— I  really 
do  not  feel  well." 

"  Mr.  Warncliff !"  repeated  the  other,  with  a  short  laugh, 
facing  round.  "Did  you  hear  that,  Walter  ?  Clara  grows 
formal.  It  used  to  be — *  Willard,  will  you  do  this  ?  and, 
Willard,  will  you  do  that?'  But,"  and  he  glanced  at  me 
in  a  very  significant  manner,  "  I  think  I  can  guess  the 
reason  of  the  change." 

4 


38  CLARA   MOREL  AND. 


I  felt  an  angry  flush  flash  over  my  features,  and  was 
about  to  give  a  tart  reply ;  but  Walter  immediately  re- 
joined, with  a  laugh : 

"  Oh,  go  on,  Will — never  mind  formalities.  Willard, 
with  the  soft  adjectives,  will  return  in  good  time.  Come, 
Walton,"  he  pursued,  taking  my  arm,  "it  is  a  glorious 
night !  and  though  at  the  risk  of  being  wished  a  thousand 
miles  away,  we  will  join  our  lovers  in  a  ride.'* 

"Nay,  you  must  excuse  me,"  I  said. 

"What!  are  you  ailing  too?"  ho  cried.  "Heyday! 
what  has  come  over  you  and  Clara  all  of  a  sudden  ?  Ah  ! 
I  see  :  your  long  walk  has  fatigued  you." 

"  I  have  not  complained  of  illness,  or  fatigue,  to  my 
knowledge,"  I  replied,  with  an  air  of  cold  reserve. 

"  Oh,  well,"  he  replied,  "  if  you  really  do  not  wish  to  go, 
I  will  stay  and  keep  you  company." 

"By  no  means,"  I  rejoined;  "it  would  please  me  better 
to  have  you  all  go  and  enjoy  yourselves,  the  same  as  if  I 
were  not  here.  You  know  I  am  in  part  an  invalid  still ; 
and  I  will  make  free  to  request  to  be  allowed  to  retire  a 
little  earlier  than  usual." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Walter,  who  seemed  the  soul 
of  frankness,  good-humor,  and  affability ;  "  if  it  will  suit  you 
better  to  remain,  I  will  not  press  you  to  go." 

Thus  conversing,  we  reached  the  house ;  and  on  the  steps, 
Warncliff*,  who  still  had  Clara's  arm,  turned  and  said  : 

"  Walter,  I  fear  it  will  be  you  and  I  alone — for  I  can  do 
nothing  with  Clara — she  is  as  obstinate  as  a  mule." 

"  Out  upon  you,"  cried  Mary  from  the  window,  "  for 
comparing  my  sister  to  one  of  your  own  species  !  Faith ! 
if  I  were  she,  you  should  apologize  for  that  rude  speech,  on 
your  knees,  ere  you  were  twenty-four  hours  older,  or  you 
should  wake  up  some  fine  morning  and  find  yourself  a  dis- 
carded lover." 


A   MOONLIGUT   INTERVIETT.  39 

"  Sooner  than  suffer  such  a  penalty,  my  pretty  black 
eyes,  I  would  do  almost  any  thing,"  returned  Warncliff, 
laughing. 

"I  believe  you,"  rejoined  Mary,  in  a  tone  and  with 
an  emphasis  that  seemed  to  give  her  words  a  marked 
meaning. 

Notwithstanding  her  refusal,  Clara  was  finally  prevailed 
upon  to  take  a  moonlight  ride — though  not  till  her  father 
had  joined  his  request  to  Warncliff's  in  a  tone  so  like  a 
command  that  she  seemed  to  have  no  alternative.  There 
were  seats  for  four;  and  as  I  still  persisted  in  declining  to 
make  one  of  the  number  to  fill  them — though  I  now  stu- 
diously shaped  my  language  so  as  not  to  give  any  offence — 
Mary  took  my  place,  and  the  party  dashed  off  behind  a  black 
driver  and  a  splendid  pair  of  black  horses. 

It  was  still  an  early  hour  in  the  evening ;  but  pleading 
some  indisposition  and  fatigue,  I  shortly  after  took  leave 
of  the  Colonel  and  his  good  lady,  and  was  shown  by  a  black 
domestic  to  the  lodging  I  was  to  occupy  during  my  brief 
stay  with  the  Morelands. 

Alone,  in  the  welcome  solitude  of  my  chamber,  I  locked 
the  door,  and  then  gave  full  sway  to  those  gloomy,  despond- 
ent feelings,  which  must  ever  follow  upon  the  total  annihi- 
lation of  bright  and  cheering  hopes.  Yes,  strange  as  it 
may  seem  to  the  reader — and  strange  as  it  now  seems  to 
me,  viewing  it  from  another  point  of  time — I  really  felt  as 
if  all  the  bright  things  had  been  stricken  from  the  earth, 
and  that  nothing  remained  worth  the  living  for.  Not  till  now 
was  I  aware  how  much  the  bright  vision  of  Clara  had  been 
associated  with  all  the  delights  of  the  present — all  the  glo- 
rious anticipations  of  the  unattained  future  !  Not  till  now 
was  I  aware,  that  since  the  first  hour  of  our  meeting,  she 
had  been  inseparably  mingled  with  my  every  enjoyment. 
Jn  short,  not  till  now  was  I  aware  what  a  deep,  firm,  rooted 


40  CLARA    MORELAND. 


hold  she  had  taken  upon  my  heart,  which  gives  its  own  pe- 
culiar hue  to  every  object.  True,  I  had  acknowledged  to 
myself  that  I  loved  her ;  yet  not  till  I  found  that  love  hope- 
less, had  I  been  aware  of  the  real  strength  of  ^my  passion. 
True  again,  I  had  never  looked  upon  her  as  absolutely  mine 
— for  I  knew  too  little  of  her,  and  she  of  me,  to  warrant  any 
such  conclusion ;  yet  less,  I  must  confess,  had  I  ever  for  a 
moment  harbored  the  idea  that  she  might  be  another's. 
But  now  the  last  startling  truth  stared  me  in  the  face. 
Yes,  the  dream  was  over — ^e  could  never  be  mine.  And 
yet  did  she  not  love  me  ?  She  did  not  love  my  rival,  I  felt 
certain;  and  when  I  recalled  to  mind  a  thousand  little 
things — in  themselves  nothing,  yet  passing  signs  of  the 
drift  of  feeling — I  could  not  but  flatter  myself  that, 
whatever  might  be  her  fate  or  mine,  I  should  not  readily 
be  forgotten. 

Something  evidently  preyed  upon  the  mind  of  Clara,  and 
I  somehow  felt  that  I  was  connected  with  her  sorrow.  Had 
she  rashly  promised  her  hand  to  Warncliff  ?  and  did  she 
now  regret  it,  and  yet  fear  to  make  it  known  ?  Or  had  this 
inconsiderate  step  been  forced  upon  her  by  the  entreaties — 
it  might  be  commands — of  those  she  feared  to  disobey,  and 
who  were  governed  solely  by  worldly  motives  ?  Yes,  some- 
thing had  evidently  gone  wrong,  around  which  her  peculiar 
conduct  had  thrown  an  air  of  mystery  that  perplexed  me  in 
more  senses  than  one. 

'But  much  as  I  took  this  mystery  to  heart,  I  had  no  idea 
of  making  any  attempt  to  satisfy  my  curiosity,  by  inquiring 
into  the  real  facts  of  the  matter.  No  !  she  could  never  be 
any  thing  to  me — her  own  lips  had  said  it — there  was  no 
hope — and  it  only  remained  for  me  to  go  forth  and  en- 
deavor to  forget  that  we  had  met.  This  I  felt  I  could 
never  do ;  but  I  could  depart  from  her  fair  presence ;  and 
this  I  resolved  to  do  at  the  earliest  moment  that  would 


A  MOONLIGHT   INTERVIEW.  41 

allow  of  my  taking  leave  without  giving  room  for  any  specu- 
lations as  to  the  cause. 

With  these,  and  many  other  like  reflections,  I  worried 
myself  to  sleep — little  dreaming,  in  the  vanity  of  human 
calculations,  what  the  eventful  morrow  had  in  store  for  me. 
It  is  well  for  us  that  we  know  not  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth. 


ts 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   RIDE   AND   A   QUARREL. 

"When  I  awoke  on  the  following  morning,  tlie  suu  was 
pouring  a  golden  flood  of  light  into  my  chamber.  I  arose 
in  some  haste,  for  I  had  slept  later  than  I  intended ;  and 
at  the  same  moment  my  faithful  Tom  made  his  appearance, 
and  placed  in  my  hand  a  slip  of  paper,  on  which  was  traced, 
with  a  pencil,  as  follows : 

"  Pardon  my  seeming  uncourteousness  of  last  night !  I 
was  agitated,  and  troubled,  but  not  without  cause.  After 
what  has  already  passed  between  us,  I  think  it  no  more 
than  right  that  I  should,  to  some  extent,  give  you  the  ex- 
planation you  desired.  This  cannot  be  done  in  the  presence 
of  a  third  party ;  and  I  must  entreat  you  not  to  mention 
aught  of  last  night's  interview  to  any  one!  .Destroy  this 
as  soon  as  read ! 

"  C.  M.' 

I  perused  this  note  some  two  or  three  times,  with  emotions 
of  delight  beyond  my  power  to  describe.  Clara  wished  to 
give  me  an  explanation  in  private ;  and  if  I  augured  more 
from  this  than  was  actually  set  down  in  black  and  white,  iti 
is  nothing  I  think  to  be  wondered  at,  considering  that  I  was 
in  some  sort  a  lover,  and  of  a  rather  sanguine  temperament. 
I  hardly  need  say,  that  the  injunction  to  destroy  the  note 
as  soon  as  read,  was  not  complied  with.  With  the  usual 
extravagance  of  one  in  my  situation,  I  pressed  it  a  dozen 
times  to  my  lips,  and  then  carefully  hid  it  away  as  near  my 
heart  as  was  convenient.  On  turning  to  Tom,  who  had 
(42) 


A   RIDE   AND   A   QUARREL.  43 

^een  eying  me  the  while,  I  fancied  I  saw  a  merry  twinkle 
in  his  eye,  and  a  suppressed  smile  on  his  ebony  countenance. 

"What  are  you  grinning  at  ?"  I  demanded. 

"  I*s  not  grinning,  Massa  Hal,  dat  I  knows  on,"  answered 
the  black,  looking  very  serious.  ^ 

"  Who  gave  you  this  note  ?'* 

"  De  young  Missus  Clara." 

"  Did  she  give  you  any  message  with  it  ?" 

"  She  say,  '  Tom,  you  gib  dat  to  your  massa,  and  don't 
you  let  nobody  else  see  it  ;*  and  den  she  slipped  dis  into  my 
band;"  and  Tom  exhibited  a  silver  coin. 

I  expected  to  meet  Clara  at  the  breakfast  table — but  I 
was  disappointed.  She  did  not  make  her  appearance,  and 
Mary  informed  me  that  she  was  slightly  indisposed. 
After  the  meal  was  over,  I  went  out  with  Walter,  and  took 
a  stroll  around  the  town,  with  which  I  was  much  pleased — 
though,  being  situated  upon  a  low  lying  prairie,  the  climate 
is  not  very  salubrious.  Toward  noon,  as  we  were  on  our 
return,  we  met  W^arncliff.  He  bowed  coldly  to  me,  and  I 
returned  his  salutation  as  coldly.  He  then  drew  Walter 
aside,  and  spoke  hurriedly  to  him  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  cannot,"  I  heard  Walter  say;  "Mr.  Walton  is  my 
guest,  and  it  would  be  ungentlemanly  to  leave  him." 

"But  perhaps  he  would  accompany  us?"  suggested  the 
other. 

"No!  no!"  returned  Walter,  quickly ;  and  then  lower- 
ing his  voice,  he  added  something  I  did  not  overhear. 

Both  now  conversed  in  low  tones  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  I  heard  Warncliff  say : 

"Leave  it  to  me." 

He  then  turned  to  me,  and  with  much  formal  politeness 
said : 

"  Not  aware  that  Mr.  Moreland  was  otherwise  engaged, 
I  this  morning  made  an  engagement  for  him  to  meet  a 


44  CLARA  MORELAND. 


few  choice  friends,  who  will  be  much  disappointed  if  he 
does  not  come.  Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  him 
for  a  few  hours  ? — or,  if  you  prefer  it,  honor  us  with  your 
company?" 

"  Oh,  I  will  excuse  him,  most  certainly,"  I  answered, 
with  a  stiff  bow. 

"  You  will  not  be  offended  ?"  said  Walter  coming 
forward  and  taking  my  hand.  "  You  see  how  it  is — the 
engagement  has  been  made  for  me,  unknown  to  myself." 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  my  account,"  I  replied, 
with  cordiality.  "  I  will  return  and  have  a  little  chat 
with  your  sister." 

I  did  not  say  which ;  but  the  look  which  Warncliff  be- 
stowed upon  me,  seemed  to  imply  that  he  at  least  thought 
of  only  one.  His  eyes  flashed,  his  lips  compressed,  and 
an  angry  flush  passed  over  his  features,  leaving  them  very 
pale.  I  was  satisfied  I  had  roused  his  jealousy;  and  this 
being  exactly  the  result  I  intended,  1  bowed,  with  a  mean- 
ing smile,  and  walked  slowly  away. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  I  met  Colonel  Moreland 
coming  down  the  steps. 

"  Ha  !  in  good  time — where  is  Walter  ?"  he  said. 

"  We  were  met  by  Mr.  Warncliff,  who  said  he  had  made 
an  engagement  for  him,  and  the  two  went  away  together." 

"This  is  unlucky,"  he  returned,  musingly.  And  then, 
after  a  pause,  he  added:  "By-the-by,  perhaps  I  could 
count  on  you  to  do  me  a  favor?" 

'^  Certainly,  Colonel — any  thing  in  my  power." 

"  Thank  you !  The  fact  is,  you  see,  my  brother's 
widow — the  mother  of  Tom,  whom  you  chanced  to  see  die 
— has  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  has  sent  word  that  she 
must  see  Clara  immediately.  Now  that  neither  Walter 
nor  Warncliff  are  here,  there  is  no  one  to  escort  her  but 
myself;  and  I  have  some  important  business  to  attend  to, 


A  RIDE   AND  A  QUARREL.  45 

and  cannot  well  spare  the  time.  Now  if  you  would  be  so 
kind — Are  you  fond  of  riding  horseback?" 

"  It  is  one  of  my  favorite  pastimes,  Colonel." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  accompany  her 
on  horseback,  you  will  lay  me  under  an  obligation." 

*'It  will  afford  me  great  pleasure,"  I  answered,  scarcely 
able,  for  very  joy,  to  keep  myself  calm. 

"  Clara  might  venture  alone,"  pursued  the  Colonel ; 
"  but  as  the  nearest  way  to  the  widow's  residence  lies 
across  a  prairie,  I  should  feel  better  satisfied  to  have  some 
one  with  her." 

"Nothing  will  afford  me  more  delight  than  such  a 
ride,"  I  rejoined.     "What  is  the  distance  ?" 

"  About  ten  miles  across  the  prairie — but  nearly  twice 
as  far  round  by  the  road.  Clara  knows  the  way — so  you 
have  nothing  to  do  but  keep  her  company.  Come  !  come 
in  and  take  a  lunch — for  I  shall  not  let  you  stay  to  dinner. 
Cato,  (to  a  house  servant)  go  and  tell  Mingo  to  saddle  the 
gray  for  Miss  Clara,  and  the  sorrel  for  Mr.  Walton,  and 
bring  them  round  to  the  door  here  immediately.  And  hark 
you,  boy  !  if  Mingo  is  not  at  the  stable,  put  the  saddles  on 
yourself.  Away  with  ye !  and  don't  let  the  grass  grow 
under  your  feet." 

Saying  this,  he  led  the  way  into  the  house,  and  ordered 
some  refreshments  to  be  served  without  delay.  Just  as  he 
had  done  giving  these  directions,  Clara  entered  the  room, 
looking  very  pale,  but  more  lovely  I  thought  than  ever. 
A  slight  flush  mantled  her  features  as  she  saluted  me — 
but  ere  she  had  lime  for  further  speech,  her  father  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Away,  Clara,  and  don  your  riding  dress  !  Mr.  Walton 
has  kindly  consented  to  accompany  you  :  Walter  has  not 
returned.     Come !  away  with  you !  for  your  aunt  may  die 


46  CLARA  MORELAND. 


ere  you  get  there — something  tells  me  she  is  not  long  for 
this  world." 

Clara  blushed  still  deeper,  as  her  father  made  this  an* 
nouncement ;  and  turning  quickly  away,  she  left  the  room. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  run  away  with  Clara,  eh  ?"  cried 
Mary,  bouncing  into  the  room,  with  a  roguish  twinkle  in 
her  black  eyes.  "  Take  care  you  bring  her  back  safe,  Mr. 
Walton,  or  it  will  not  be  well  for  you  to  show  me  your 
face  again !" 

"I  shall  certainly  endeavor  to  do  so,"  I  answered,  with 
a  laugh. 

"I  wish  I  were  going.     Papa — " 
You  will  stay,"  said  her  father,  peremptorily. 

"Always  the  way,"  muttered  Mary,  pouting  her  pretty 
lips,  as  the  Colonel  quitted  the  apartment.  "  If  there  is 
the  least  chance  for  a  spice  of  romance,  Clara  goes,  and  I 
am  carefully  housed.  Never  mind  !"  she  pursued,  tossing 
her  head  and  shaking  her  raven  curls ;  "  I  shall  not 
always  be  in  leading  strings,  and  then  let  them  bridle  me 
who  can.  Now  mind!"  she  continued,  with  an  arch  look, 
holding  up  her  finger:  "don't  you  run  away  with  Clara, 
nor  steal  her  affections  !  do  you  hear  ?" 

"Away  with  you,  Miss  Impertinence  !"  cried  the  Colo- 
nel, at  this  moment  returning.  "  I  trust  Mr.  Walton  is  a 
gentleman ;  and  if  so,  it  will  be  enough  for  him  to  know 
that  the  hand  of  Clara  is  already  engaged.  The  lunch  is 
ready,  sir — this  way." 

I  was  glad  to  escape  from  what  I  was  just  beginning  to 
feel  a  rather  embarrassing  situation.  After  a  hasty  meal, 
I  made  some  change  in  my  dress,  secured  my  pistols  about 
my  person,  and  informed  Tom  whither  I  was  going.  By 
the  time  I  had  done  this,  the  horses  were  at  the  door,  and 
Clara,  in  a  riding  habit,  stood  ready  to  mount.  I  assisted 
her  into  the  saddle,  with  emotions  I  shall  not  pretend  to 


A  RIDE  AND  A  QUARREL.  47 

describe.  I  had  never  seen  her  look  so  charming  as  now, 
as  she  sat  erect  on  her  gallant  gray — the  plume  of  her 
riding-cap  sweeping  down  so  as  to  mingle  with  her  sunny 
curls — her  eyes  sparkling,  and  her  pale  features  growing 
animated  with  that  sort  of  enthusiastic  rapture  which  the 
true  lover  of  the  equestrian  art  ever  feels  when  well 
mounted.  I  was  soon  by  her  side ;  and  waving  a  cheerful 
adieu  to  the  father,  mother  and  sister  of  my  companion, 
who  were  watching  our  departure,  we  rode  slowly  down 
the  avenue  to  the  gate  opening  upon  the  street. 
Suddenly,  I  knew  not  why,  I  felt  a  cold  shudder  pass 
through  my  frame ;  and,  for  a  moment  or  two,  a  sense 
as  of  some  heavy  calamity  oppressed  me,  and  fairly  made 
my  heart  sink.  At  the  same  moment  Clara  turned  her 
head  to  look  back ;  and  as  I  thus  caught  a  full  view  of 
her  features,  I  was  struck  with  their  deathly  pallor,  and  a 
certain  expression  of  wildness  and  alarm  which  they  dis- 
played. Could  it  be  that  we  both  had  a  presentiment  of 
coming  evil  ?  that  a  dark  cloud  of  the  future  was  lowering 
over  our  heads,  invisible  to  all  but  our  spiritual  eyes  ? 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  inquired  of  my  fair  com- 
panion. 

"Nothing!  nothing!"  she  said,  hurriedly;  and  giving  her 
horse  a  smart  cut  with  her  riding  whip,  she  rode  quickly 
forward  to  the  street,  and  then  moderated  her  pace. 

This  street  led  out  of  town  in  a  northerly  direction  ;  and 
ds  this  was  our  course,  we  did  not  turn  out  of  it.  We.  had 
advanced  along  it  some  two  hundred  yards  perhaps, 
and  I  had  my  eye  on  a  beautiful  prospect  away  to  the 
left,  when  I  heard  a  voice,  not  unfamiliar  to  me,  exclaim : 

"Whither  bound,  my  pretty  runaway  ?" 

I  turned  my  head  quickly,  and  beheld  the  object  of  my 
dislike,  Willard  Warncliflf,  in  the  act  of  putting  his  hand 
u,)on  Clara's  bridle-rein. 


48  CLARA  MORELAND. 

"Do  not  detain  me!"  she  said,  hurriedly,  "with  con- 
siderable agitation,  as  he  stopped  her  horse.  "  I  am  on 
my  way  to  visit  my  aunt,  who  has  suddenly  been  taken  ill 
and  sent  for  me." 

"Methinks  I  am  the  proper  person  to  escort  you 
thither,"  he  replied,  with  marked  emphasis  on  the 
pronoun,  glancing  somewhat  fiercely  toward  me 

Clara  looked  frightened,  and  I  felt  my  blood  boil — 
though,  by  a  great  effort,  I  controlled  my  temper,  so  as  to 
rejoin,  ^n  a  cold,  quiet  tone  : 

"As  you  and  Walter  had  a  pressing  engagement  on 
hand,  and  were  not  present.  Colonel  Moreland  assigned  the 
pleasure  of  escorting  Miss  Moreland  to  her  destination,  to 
your  most  humble  servant." 

"But  I  am  present  now,  sir,"  he  replied;  "and,  with 
your  good  leave,  I  will  take  the  trouble  off  of  your  hands." 

"  Will  you  be  so  good,  my  dear  sir,  as  to  inform  me  to 
what  trouble  you  allude  ?"  I  inquired,  with  mock  polite- 
ness. 

He  colored  to  the  temples,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"  In  short,"  he  rejoined,  "I  will  take  your  place  by  my 
affianced  bride." 

"In  short,  you  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said  I,  "unless 
Miss  Moreland  particularly  desires  it." 

"  Which  she  does,  of  course,"  he  said,  appealing  to 
Clara. 

"  Where  is  Walter  ?"  she  inquired,  a  good  deal  agitated, 
and  apparently  somewhat  alarmed. 

"  He  is  with  some  friends,  not  far  off,"  replied  Warncliff. 
"  I  chanced  to  espy  you  coming  up  the  street,  and  left  him 
to  speak  to  you  :  I  can  call  him  if  you  wish." 

"  It  were  a  pity  to  withdraw  you  both  from  your  friends 
at  the  same  time,"   I  interposed  ;  "and  therefore,  in  case 


A   RIDE  AND  A   QUARREL.  49 

you  do  call  Walter,  perhaps  you  had  better  take  his 
place." 

"  I  was  not  addressing  my  conversation  to  you,  Sir 
Insolence  !"cried  WarnclifF,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage 
— at  the  same  time  giving  me  a  look,  which,  had  looks  the 
power  to  destroy,  this  narrative  had  never  been  penned. 

*'  It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me  to  whom  you  were 
speaking,"  I  rejoined,  carelessly. 

"  Say  you  so,  sir  !"  began  Warncliff — but  was  interrup- 
ted by  Clara,  with : 

"  Come,  come,  gentlemen — no  quarrelling !" 

"  Your  presence,  Miss  Clara,  will  protect  him  now,"  he 
replied;  ''but,"  and  he  looked  fiercely  at  me,  "we  shall 
meet  again." 

"I  hope  not,"  I  returned,  "fori  dislike  to  meet  any 
but  gentlemen." 

"  How,  sir  !  do  you — "  • 

"  Come,  come,  Willard,"  cried  Clara,  now  really 
alarmed  ;  "  for  my  sake,  retire,  and  let  there  be  no  more 
words  between  you !  Go,  Willard — ^you  are  detaining 
me ;  and  my  aunt,  for  what  I  know,  may  be  dying." 

"  Shall  I  take  his  place  ?"  inquired  Warncliff,  sullenly. 

"No,  no  !  I  would  not  so  insult  him." 

"  Indeed !"  sneered  the  other :  "  Umph !" 

"  Come,  Willard,  let  go  my  bridle-rein !"  said  Clara, 
coaxingly,  in  a  tremulous  tone. 

To  this  request  Warncliff  gave  no  heed;  but  first  looked 
fixedly  at  her,  and  then  fastened  his  eye  on  me,  with  an 
insolent  and  most  wicked  expression.  I  felt  that  I  had 
borne  about  as  much  as  my  nature  could  stand  ;  and  qui- 
etly taking  Clara's  riding-whip  from  her  hand,  I  bade  him 
let  go  his  hold  or  take  the  consequences.  As  he  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  move,  I  raised  the  whip,  with  the  rapid- 
4  6 


50  CLARA   MORELAND. 

ity  of  lightning,  and  struck  him  a  blow  across  the  hand 
that  brought  the  blood. 

With  a  yell  of  demoniac  rage  and  pain,  he  sprang  back; 
and  at  the  same  moment  I  started  both  horses  forward, 
upon  a  quick  gallop.  After  riding  a  short  distance,  I 
turned  my  head,  and  saw  Warncliff  still  standing  where  we 
left  him,  looking  after  us  with  one  of  the  most  fiendish 
expressions  of  countenance  I  have  ever  seen.  In  his  hand 
he  held  something  which  I  took  to  be  a  pistol.  This  he 
raised  and  pointed  toward  me ;  and  while  I  kept  my  eye 
on  him,  expecting  every  moment  he  would  fire,  he  sud- 
denly wheeled  on  his  heel  and  disappeared. 

"  Oh!  Mr.  Walton,  what  have  you  done  ?"  said  Clara  to 
me,  in  a  tone  of  alarm,  as  we  slackened  the  speed  of  our 
horses  about  half-a-mile  beyond  the  town. 

"Nothing,  I  trust,  offensive  to  you,"  I  replied — "or,  if 
so,  I  shall  deeply  regret  it." 

"  You  have  made  Warncliff  your  mortal  enemy,  and  I 
fear  he  will  revenge  himself  upon  you  in  some  terrible 
manner." 

"  Were  I  certain  Miss  Moreland  only  regretted  this  on 
my  account,  I  should  rejoice  at  the  danger  which  could 
give  me  so  much  interest  in  her  eyes,"  I  replied. 

"Nay,  this  is  folly,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "My  taking 
an  interest  in  your  welfare  would  not  advantage  you  in  the 
least ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  might  raise  you  up  enemies 
where  you  least  expect  them." 

"  I  know  not  how  that  may  be ;  but  only  tell  me 
your  heart  is  mine,  and  I  will  unflinchingly  brave  all  con- 
sequences, even  though  the  displeasure  of  your  father  be 
one  of  them." 

"Ha!  why  do  you  mention  the  displeasure  of  my 
father  ?"  she  returned,  quickly :  *.'  have  you  and  he  spoken 
together  on  this  subject?" 


A   RIDE   AND   A   QUARREL. 


I  repeated  what  he  had  said  concerning  her  hand  being 
engaged. 

"Ah  !  yes,"  she  sighed — "on  this  point  he  is  inexora- 
ble, and  will  hold  any  one  an  enemy  who  seeks  to  counter- 
act his  wishes." 

"  It  is  then  by  his  express  command  that  you  tolerate 
the  visits,  or  more  especially  the  suit,  of  Warncliff  ?" 

"I  cannot  deny  it,"  returned  Clara,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  fancied  as  much,"  I  rejoined;  "  for  it  is  easily  seen 
you  rather  fear  than  love  him." 

"  But  it  was  not  always  so,"  she  resumed.  "  Nay, 
there  was  a  time  when  he  stood  high  in  my  esteem;  but 
of  late,  from  some  cause — "  She  paused,  and  hung  her 
head,  and  the  color  deepened  on  her  lovely  features — "  In 
short,  I  think  I  have  seen  that  in  his  character  which  no 
true  woman  would  tolerate,  and  which  no  one  would  like 
to  perceive  in  him  who  is  to  be  her  partner  for  life." 

"  Then,  even  at  the  risk  of  offending  you  again,  I  must 
repeat  my  warning — beware  how  you  perjure  yourself 
before  God's  holy  altar !  for  when  you  there  take  upon 
you  the  sacred  vow — to  love,  honor  and  obey — will  it  not 
be  perjury  ?" 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?"  she  said,  earnestly.  "My 
father's  commands  must  be  obeyed." 

"  No  parent's  commands  should  be  obeyed,  when  those 
commands  lead  to  dishonor,"  I  replied ;  "  nor  has  any 
parent  a  right  to  impose  such  commands  upon  a  child.  I 
know  that  you  love  and  respect  your  worthy  father,  and 
my  counsel  to  you  in  this  matter  may  seem  harsh ;  but 
believe  me,  I  speak  for  your  own  good,  and  with  no  selfish 
motive — though  you  appeared  to  think  otherwise  last 
night." 

"I  was  offended  last. night,  I  do  not  deny;  for  I  then 
felt  that,  for  a  stranger,  you  were  taking  unwarrantable 


52  •  •      CLARA    MORELAND. 

•liberties  ;  but  after  due  reflection,  I  -was  forced  to  acknow- 
ledge to  myself  that,  if  a  little  severe,  you  were  just ;  and 
thinking  perhaps  that  I  had  .wounded  your  feelings,  and 
that  there  could  be  no  harm  in  giving  you  a  fair  statement 
of  how  matters  stand  between  Warncliff  and  myself,  I  this 
morning  sent  you  a  note  to  this  effect." 

"Which  I  received,  Clara,  with  grateful  emotions,"  I 
rejoined ;  "  and  without  which  I  should  never  have  pre- 
sumed to  address  you  on  this  important  subject  again. 
No,  believing  myself  out  of  place  at  your  father's  house — 
that  my  presence  would  prove  rather  an  embarrassment 
and  annoyance  to  you  than  a  pleasure — I  had  resolved  to 
take  the  first  favorable  opportunity  of  bidding  you  a  final 
farewell." 

"Would  that  we  had  never  met!"  murmured  Clara. 
drooping  her  head. 

"As  matters  stand,  it  had  doubtless  been  better  for 
both  of  us,"  I  rejoined.  "  Still,  Clara,  if  you  are  willing 
to  look  upon  me  as  a  friend,  I  will  counsel  you  to  the  best 
of  my  poor  ability,  and  promise  you  not  to  say  aught  to 
you  which  I  might  not  with  propriety  say  were  you 
already  wedded." 

"Oh,  say  you  so  ?"  cried  Clara,  joyfully.  "Thanks, 
sir !  thanks  !  your  words  relieve  me  of  a  weight  of  embar- 
rassment. Now  I  feel  I  can  speak  to  you  as  to  a  friend 
who  will  not  abuse  my  confidence.  The  truth  is,  my  ap- 
proaching nuptials  with  Warncliff  give  me  great  uneasi- 
ness— but  I  know  not  how  to  avoid  them,  without  offend- 
ing my  father." 

"  Would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  go  to  him,  and  in 
plain  language  tell  him,  that  to  obey  his  commands  in 
this  respect  would  make  you  unhappy  for  life?" 

Clara  shook  her  head. 

"You  do  not  know  him,"  she  said;  "he  likes  not  to 


THE   RIDE   AND   A   QUARREL.  53 


have  his  wishes  thwarted,  no  matter  from  what  cause. 
He  is  self-willed ;  and  once  determined  upon  a  thing,  it 
is  almost  impossible  to  change  him.  In  this  case,  I  am 
certain  he  w^ould  remain  inexorable,  unless  he  himself 
should  find  cause  to  take  offence  at  Warncliff;  and  that 
he  is  not  likely  to  do ;  for  the  latter  is  one  who,  for  self- 
interest,  would  sacrifice  his  right  hand  to  please  him.** 

"And  pray  who  is  this  AYarncliff,  that  has  so  strong  a 
hold  upon  the  regards  of  your  father  ?  and  how  has  he 
managed  to  work  himself  so  deeply  into  his  favor  ?" 

"  He  is  the  son  of  an  early  friend  of  my  father's,  who 
came  to  this  country  with  him,  and  died  here  about  six 
years  ago.  The  elder  Warncliff  had  buried  his  wife  a 
year  or  two  previous — so  that  Willard,  an  only  child,  was 
left  parentless  on  the  demise  of  his  father.  The  latter 
left  his  son  a  small  property,  of  which  my  father  was 
appointed  trustee,  until  such  time  as  Willard  should  attain 
his  majority,  which  took  place  about  a  year  or  so  after 
the  death  of  his  parent. 

"  I  have  said  that  the  elder  Warncliff  and  my  father 
were  friends ;  and  so  warm  is  the  attachment  of  my 
father,  that  I  verily  believe  he  would  willingly  sacrifice 
half  his  worldly  possessions,  rather  than  see  one  he  calls 
his  friend  suffer.  On  his  death-bed,  Warncliff  said  to  my 
father,  that  if  agreeable  to  all  parties,  he  should  like 
to  have  Willard  and  myself  united ;  and  my  father  pro- 
mised to  do  all  in  his  power  to  bring  about  such  a  result. 

"  Well,  to  be  brief,  after  the  death  of  his  father,  Willard 
became  a  daily  visitor  at  our  house,  and  was  treated  as 
one  of  the  family.  Though  much  my  elder,  he  ever 
showed  me  so  much  deference,  and  took  so  much  pains  to 
please  me,  that,  though  at  first  I  was  any  thing  but 
partial  to  him,  I  came  to  like  him  exceedingly ;  and  when, 
a  year  or  two  after,  my  father  one  day  took  me  into  his 

5* 


54  CLARA   MORELAND. 

library,  and  informed  me  that  he  designed  Willard  as  my 
future  husband,  I  did  not  object,  but  laughingly  replied — 

"  *  Better  him  than  a  worse.' 

"  This  I  suppose  my  father  communicated  to  Willard  ; 
for  a  day  or  two  after,  he  made  me  a  formal  proposal ; 
which  I,  girl-like,  thoughtlessly  accepted ;  though  he 
stipulated  that  the  wedding-day  should  be  distant,  and  of 
my  own  fixing. 

"  Time  wore  on  ;  and  the  more  I  saw  of  Willard,  the 
less  I  really  liked  him  ;  till  at  last  I  began  to  look  upon 
a  closer  connection  with  him  with  a  feeling  akin  to  abhor- 
rence. 

"He  came  not  so  regularly  now  as  formerly  to  our 
house.  Sometimes  I  would  not  see  him  for  a  month ;  and 
when  I  did  see  him,  methought  I  could  detect  traces  of 
recent  dissipation.  He  gave  out  that  he  was  speculating 
in  lands  beyond  the  Brazos,  which  kept  him  much  away ; 
and  certainly  his  style  of  living  when  here,  indicated  an 
income  he  could  never  have  derived  from  the  small  pro- 
perty left  him  by  his  father. 

"  At  present  he  is  stopping  at  the  most  expensive 
hotel,  has  two  servants  and  a  span  of  horses,  and  spends 
money  with  an  extravagance  that  would  soon  impoverish 
a  man  of  wealth.  I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  it ; 
but  I  have  sometimes  thought — that — perhaps — " 

"His  resources  are  not  honestly  gained,"  rejoined  I,  as 
Clara  paused. 

"  Ay,  even  so,"  replied  Clara — "  though  I  did  not  like 
to  say  it." 

"  Fear  nothing  from  me,  Clara — your  words  will  not  be 
repeated." 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  said,  the  color  deepening  on  her 
fair  features ;  "  and  to  show  you  how  much  you  possess 
my  confidence,   I    now  assure  you  that  I  have  never 


THE   RIDE   AND  A  QUARREL.  55 

breathed  these  suspicions  to  a  soul  besides  yourself — nor 
would  I  dare  do  so,  unless  I  had  substantial  proofs  to  sup- 
port them." 

"From  my  heart,  Clara,  I  thank  you  for  your  confi- 
dence,'* I  replied,  with  very  peculiar  emotions  ;  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  I  could  restrain  myself  from  saying  more : 
but  I  remembered  my  promise,  and  withheld  the  warmer 
expressions  that  rose  to  ray  lips.  "Yes,"  pursued  I, 
recurring  to  the  main  subject,  "  I  do  not  think  Willard 
Warncliff  any  too  honest ;  indeed,  I  believe  him  unprin- 
cipled, and  one  that  would  scarcely  scruple  at  any  thing 
necessary  to  the  accomplishment  of  any  purpose  he  may 
have  in  view  ;  therefore,  as  to  one  standing  on  a  fearful 
precipice,  do  I  csy,  beware  !  draw  back !  ere  you  take  the 
leap  from  which  you  can  never  recover.  Nor  do  I  say  this, 
Clara,  with  any  selfish  motive ;  but,  as  I  know  my  heart, 
purely  for  your  own  good,  and  as  I  would  warn  you  from 
any  other  danger.  No,  Clara,  you  have  my  promise  that 
I  will  say  nothing  to  you  which  I  might  not  with  propriety 
say  were  you  already  married  ;  and  to  this  I  will  now 
add,  that  were  you  to  freely  offer  me  your  hand,  I  would 
not  accept  it  without  your  father's  consent ;  and  as  this, 
according  to  your  own  showing,  would  not  be  likely  to  be 
obtained  for  one  who  had  thwarted  his  wishes  in  a  matter 
of  so  great  a  consequence  as  the  disposal  of  your  hand,  you 
will  readily  see  what  little  prospect  there  is  of  my  ever 
having  further  claim  on  you  than  that  which  is  accorded 
to  disinterested  friendship :  hence,  I  pray  you,  if  you 
value  my  counsel  at  all,  let  it  join  with  your  own  honest 
convictions,  and  prove  powerful  enough  to  save  you  from 
irretrievable  ruin  and  hopeless  misery!" 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?"  said  Clara,  dejectedly. 

"  Reject  him  !  Tell  him  you  have  studied  your  heart, 


56  CLARA  MORELAND. 

and  find  you  cannot  love  him,  and  that  your  hand  can 
only  go  with  your  heart." 

"But  my  father?" 

"  He  may  be  angry  at  first ;  but  far  better  brave  his 
anger,  than  perjure  yourself  before  God,  and  endure  a 
•wretched  existence,  by  being  irrevocably  bound  to  one 
you  fear,  and  perhaps  abhor." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  not  what  to  do  !"  groaned  Clara,  her  fair 
features  expressing  great  mental  suffering.  "  Yes,  I  do 
fear  him,  and  I  tremble  at  the  thought  of  telling  him  that 
I  can  never  be  his.  But  it  must  be  so  !"  she  said,  more 
firmly ;  "  and  the  sooner  perhaps  the  better ;  for  marry 
him  I  have  now  resolved  I  never  will.  I  dread  the  storm 
that  will  follow — but  better  brave  that  than  do  worse. 
And  he  is  so  pressing  of  late — so  urgent  for  me  to  name 
the  day !" 

"  Ha  !  he  urges  you  to  name  the  day,  does  he  ?"  cried 
I.  "  So-so !  perhaps  the  gentleman  finds  his  funds  run- 
ning low  ?*' 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  Clara,  quickly ;  and  she  turned  and 
looked  me  full  in  the  face,  with  the  expression  of  one  sud- 
denly struck  with  a  new  idea.  "  Yes  !  yes  !"  she  con- 
tinued :  "  I  see  it  now  !  'I  think  you  are  right ;  for  on  the 
day  he  marries  me,  he  gets  ten  thousand  dollars,  already 
set  aside  as  my  marriage  portion.  Ah  me  !  what  an 
abyss  have  I  escaped !  and  this  escape  I  owe  to  you ;  for 
without  the  advice  of  some  friend,  warning  me  back,  I 
fear  I  should  have  yielded  to  the  force  of  circumstances, 
and  gone  forward  to  my  doom.  But  as  you,  like  myself, 
suspect  his  honesty — ^pray  tell  me  in  what  way  you  think 
him  dishonest  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing,  of  course  ;  but  I  strongly  suspect 
him  of  being  a  professional  gambler,  for  one  thing." 

"  Good   heavens  !"  cried   Clara,  much  startled  at  the 


THE   RIDE   AND  A  QUARREL.  57 

suggestion  ;  "  and  Walter  is  his  associate  !  Perhaps  he 
is  already  winding  the  snares  of  hell  around  him  !  They 
•were  always  very  intimate/'  she  added,  musingly. 

I  remembered  the  almost  startling  vehemence  with  which 
Walter  had  adjured  me  never  to  gamble  again — recalled 
the  engagement  of  the  morning,  and  the  earnestness  of  his 
manner  in  replying  to  WarnclifF,  that  I  must  not  accom- 
pany them — and  thought  it  more  than  probable  that  the 
fears  of  Clara  had  too  good  a  foundation. 

"But  Walter  has  been  absent  a  couple  of  years,"  I 
replied — "  so  that  Warncliflf  has  had  no  chance  to  corrupt 
him  of  late." 

"  True,"  rejoined  Clara — "nor  shall  he  now  have  an 
opportunity,  if  I  can  prevent  it." 

"  You  will  have  to  be  very  cautious  in  what  you  do," 
said  I. 

"  If  I  only  had  proof  that  Warncliff  does  gamble  1"  she 
rejoined,  thoughtfully. 

"  How  would  it  do  to  ask  Walter  the  question,  in  plain, 
bold  terms?"  I  suggested. 

"  I  will  try  it,"  she  replied;  "and  if  he  deceives  me,  it 
will  be  the  first  time."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  con- 
tinued :  "  I  am  sorry  you  struck  Warncliff — for  now  you 
will  be  exposed  to  his  insults  and  the  censure  of  others." 

"I  should  have  been  less  than  a  man,"  I  rejoined, 
"  could  I  have  stood  quietly  by  and  seen  you  plead  in  vain 
for  your  liberty.  So  far  as  it  gives  you  uneasiness,  Clara, 
I  regret  having  struck  him — but  no  farther.  As  to  his 
insults,  and  the  censure  of  others,  I  care  not  a  farthing 
for  them." 

"  He  will  force  a  quarrel  on  you,  I  fear,"  she  rejoined ; 
"  or,  what  is  worse,  take  secret  revenge.  Good  heavens ! 
perhaps  he  will  challenge  you !" 


58  CLAEA  MORELAND. 

"  Well,  if  lie  can  prove  himself  a  gentleman,  I  -will  give 
him  satisfaction." 

"  Oh  !  no  !  no  !  no  !"  cried^  Clara  ;  "  you  must  not 
fight !  for  you  would  be  killed,  and  he  would  triumph. 
Oh  !  promise  me  you  will  not  fight  him  !" 

"  I  would  rather  not  make  any  such  promise — but  I  will 
try  and  avoid  him,  for  the  sake  of  all  parties,  and  take 
my  departure  as  soon  as  I  can  after  our  return." 

"  What !  will  you  then  leave  us  so  soon  ?" 

"You  see  the  alternative." 

At  this  moment  Clara  looked  quickly  around,  drew  in 
her  horse,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Ha !  where  are  we  ?  I  have  been  so  much  engaged 
talking,  and  thinking,  I  fear  I  have  missed  my  way." 


CHAPTER  V. 


LOST   ON  THE   PRAIRIE. 


We  had  followed  the  road,  and  were  now  about  two 
miles  beyond  the  town,  on  an  open  prairie,  which,  in  a 
northerly  and  westerly  direction,  extended  for  miles, 
occasionally  relieved  here  and  there  by  what  I  may  term 
an  open  wood,  or  a  kind  of  grove  clear  of  underbrush. 
To  reach  the  residence  of  Clara's  aunt  by  the  nearest  way, 
we  should,  according  to  her  account,  have  turned  off  to 
the  left,  about  a  mile  back,  and  made  a  bee  line  for  a 
certain  cluster  of  trees,  which,  some  half  a  dozen  in 
number,  surrounded  a  clear  spring  of  cold  water,  and  were 
distant  about  three  miles. 

"But  it  does  not  matter  riding  back,"  she  said;  "I 
think  I  see  the  spot  from  here ;  so  we  will  set  off 
across  the  plain  ;  and  at  a  little  quicker  pace,  too — for  I 
had  almost  forgotten  the  illness  of  my  aunt." 

We  did  80  accordingly — galloping  over  a  smooth, 
luxuriant  prairie,  where  the  wild  flowers,  of  rainbow  hues, 
vied  with  each  other  in  beauty,  as  they  rose  above  the 
green,  velvet-like  turf.  As  Clara  was  to  be  guide,  I  rode 
by  her  side,  without  asking  any  questions  concerning 
the  way,  but  occasionally  conversing  with  her  on  other 
matters.  I  had  noticed  a  clump  of  trees  on  leaving  the 
road,  toward  which  we  were  directing  our  steps ;  and  sup- 
posing that  Clara  knew  the  direct  route  to  our  destina- 
tion, and  that  we  were  now  going  right,  I  thought  nothing 
more  about  it.     In  something  less  than  an  hour,  we  found 

(69) 


60  CLARA    MOREL  AND. 

ourselves  near  the  grove ;  when  Clara,  giving  a  quick, 
eager  glance  toward  the  trees,  exclaimed : 

"  Ha  !  I  have  made  a  mistake  ! — this  is  not  the  spring  !" 

"Well,  that  can  matter  but  little,"  I  replied,  "if  we 
have  kept  the  proper  direction." 

"  I  fear  we  have  not,"  she  said,  quickly  ;  "  and  a  slight 
variation  would  take  us  far  out  of  our  way." 

We  rode  up  to  the  grove,  which  was  on  slightly  rising 
ground,  and  consisted  of  numerous  trees,  clear  of  under- 
brush, standing  in  orchard-like  regularity,  and  covering  a 
space  of  a  hundred  yards  in  length  by  fifty  in  breadth. 
The  ground  here  was  moist,  and  the  vegetation  rank — the 
grass,  still  green,  coming  nearly  to  our  stirrups — though 
there  was  no  regular  spring.  I  have  rarely  seen  a  grove 
so  beautiful,  even  when  nature  has  been  aided  by  art. 
Here,  side  by  side,  grew  the  ash,  the  cypress,  the  syca- 
more, and  the  oak,  in  majestic  beauty — their  numerous 
branches  interlocking,  as  if  in  a  fraternal  embrace — and 
their  different-hued  foliage  commingling  in  picturesque 
harmony.  Vines  were  twined  around  the  huge  trunks  of 
some ;  and  some  three  or  four  were  draped  with  the 
Spanish,  or  long  moss ;  which,  of  a  dark  silver  gray  color, 
drooped  over  them  like  a  veil;  and,  partially  concealing 
their  foliage,  gave  them  a  solemn,  sombre,  funereal  aspect. 
This  curious  vegetation,  I  believe,  is  peculiar  to  Texas — at 
least  I  have  seen  it  nowhere  else  ;  and  somehow  it  always 
reminded  me  of  a  beautiful  woman  in  mourning — it  has 
something  so  attractive  and  sad  in  its  appearance.  It  is 
much  seen  on  the  bottom  lands,  near  the  laigc  rivers,  but 
seldom  in  other  places. 

We  stopped  our  horses  in  the  shade;  and  the  soft 
breeze,  as  it  stole  through  the  leafy  arches,  and  fanned  our 
brows,  felt  delightfully  refreshing ;  for,  although  October, 
•we  had  found  it  very  warm  riding  in  the  noonday  sun. 


LOST   ON  THE   PRAIRIE.  Gl 

»  >  — 

"How  beautiful !"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  glanced  around  the 
grove,  and  then  ran  my  eye  over  the  flowery  plain,  which 
stretched  away  on  every  hand  for  miles,  and,  in  one  oi 
two  directions,  extended  beyond  my  range  of  vision, 
apparently  bounded  by  the  blue  horizon. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,"  replied  my  fair  companion, 
with  an  anxious  look ;  "  but  I  can  scarcely  enjoy  the 
scene,  for  fear  I  have  lost  my  way." 

"  I  think  you  need  give  yourself  no  uneasiness,"  I 
replied  ;  "  for  surely,  in  this  short  distance,  we  cannot  have 
varied  much  from  our  proper  course." 

"Enough,  at  least,  to  perplex  me,"  she  rejoined;  "for, 
having  varied  from  the  right  path  at  all,  I  know  not  how 


to  regain  it. 


"  Nothing  is  easier :  we  have  only  to  retrace  our  steps 
and  try  again." 

"  But  think  of  the  delay  !  and  I  am  so  anxious  to  reach 
my  aunt's." 

"  Well,  as  you  know  the  point  of  compass,  I  think  it 
would  be  risking  very  little  to  go  forward  as  we  have 
begun." 

"Let  me  see!"  said  Clara,  thoughtfully.  "From  the 
spring,  I  should  shape  my  course  in  this  direction  (point- 
ing with  her  finger) ;  and  that  would  take  me  to  a  wood- 
land, about  five  miles  distant,  near  which  is  a  little  knoll, 
from  the  summit  of  which  can  be  seen  the  village  where 
my  aunt  resides.  Now  yonder  is  a  woodland,  which,  in 
appearance,  and  that  of  the  country  round — distance,  too, 
considered — I  think  must  be  the  point  I  wish  to  reach." 

"  From  your  description,  I  should  judge  so,"  I  replied. 

"We  will  ride  forward  to  it  on  a  venture,"  she  rejoined ; 
"  for  I  dislike  the  idea  of  turning  back." 

We  accordingly  set  ofi"  again,  at  a  fast  canter ;  but  it 
was  an  hour,  at  least,  before  we  reached  the  woodland — 

6 


62  CLARA   MORELAND. 

proving .  that  the  distance  was  greater  than  Clara  had 
calculated  on.  When  we  did  reach  it,  it  was  only  to  be 
sadly  disappointed — for  it  was  not  the  spot  of  which  she 
was  in  search.     She  looked  alarmed. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  she  cried :  "  now,  in  truth,  I  fear  wo 
are  lost!" 

"  Not  so !"  I  replied — "  for  it  is  easy  to  find  our  way 
back." 

"  Well,  that  seems  the  only  course  left  us :  but  only 
think  what  a  loss  of  time ! — and  our  horses  will  be  com- 
pletely fatigued :  see  how  they  pant  now  : — we  must  have 
come  ten  miles,  at  least." 

"  But  surely,"  I  pursued,  "  it  must  be  needless  to  go 
back ;  we  cannot  be  far  from  the  right  course  ;  yonder  is 
another  woodland — perhaps  that  is  the  one  we  seek." 

After  some  further  discussion,  we  decided  to  ride  for- 
ward to  the  spot  I  pointed  out ;  and,  if  still  wrong,  we 
would  retrace  our  steps.  It  was  about  three  miles  dis- 
tant, and  we  reached  it  in  less  than  half  an  hour — but  it 
was  not  the  place  we  sought. 

There  seemed  nothing  better  to  be  done  now,  than  to 
turn  back  and  go  the  ground  all  over  again ;  and  reluc- 
tantly, dispiritedly,  we  began  the  task. 

But,  for  some  reason — perhaps  because  we  had  got  a 
little  bewildered  in  our  repeated  efforts  to  get  right — and 
perhaps,  too,  because  these  numerous  groves,  dotting  the 
broad  prairie  as  islands  do  the  sea,  have  such  a  striking 
resemblance  to  each  other  at  a  distance — we  even  failed  to 
keep  our  course  back,  but  strayed  off  to  spots  we  had  not 
before  visited  ;  and  in  less  than  two  hours  after  setting 
out  on  our  return,  we  were  as  much  lost  as  if  we  had  been 
in  a  wilderness  a  hundred  miles  from  human  habitation.- 

The  first  sensation  of  being  lost  on  a  prairie,  or  in  a  for- 
est, is  terrible  j  and,  if  any  thing,  this  terribleness  I  thin  ■' 


LOST   ON   THE   PRAIRIE.  63 

increases,  as  time  passes,  and  you  find  every  effort  to  extri- 
cate yourself  from  your  awful  situation  prove  unavailing. 
That  feeling  of  helplessness,  loneliness,  utter  desolation  and 
despair,  which  succeeds  each  vain  attempt  to  right  your- 
self, will  make  the  stoutest  heart  quail,  the  strongest  nerve 
quake.  Deatjf  stares  you  in  the  face,  if  you  dare  to  look 
into  the  future— and  death  in  its  most  grim  and  ghastly 
and  hideous  form !  Death  is  appalling  at  all  times — for 
nature  instinctively  shrinks  back  from  it;  but  even  death 
has  its  degrees  of  terror  ;  and  one  of  the  most  striking  is 
that  which  comes  in  the  form  of  starvation — afar  from  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice — afar  .from  all  that  can  give  you 
a  faint  hope  of  rescue.  The  thought  of  dying  alone — 
without  one  consoling  word,  one  sympathetic  look,  one 
parting  adieu  from  those  you  love — and  to  know  that  your 
fate  will  ever  remain  unknown,  an  agonizing  mystery  to 
your  friends — that  your  flesh  will  become  food  for  raven- 
ous beasts,  and  your  bones  will  be  left  to  whiten  in  the 
desert, — the  thought  of  all  this,  I  say,  will  make  your 
frame  quiver,  and  your  blood  almost  curdle  in  your  veins. 
And  then,  as  you  shudderingly  contemplate  this  vision  of 
horror,  to  have  the  phantom  of  bloody  violence  step  in 
before  it,  and  seem  to  warn  you  not  to  count  on  even  these 
brief  hours — or,  in  other  words,  to  reflect  that  long  before 
exhausted  nature  may  loose  her  hold  on  your  immortal 
spirit,  the  teeth  of  some  prowling  beast  may  suddenly  des- 
patch you  over  the  fatal  bourne — in  no  degree  softens  the 
aspect  of  the  frightful  picture.  And  if  to  all  this  be  added 
the  like  doom  for  another,  whom  you  prize  even  beyond 
life  itself — and  to  save  whom,  from  the  fate  described,  you 
would  almost  willingly  undergo  it  alone — the  case  becomes 
one  of  mental  anxiety  almost  beyond  the  strength  of  rea- 
6on  to  bear. 

Oh !  man — alone  on  the  prairie,  in  the  forest,  or  on  the 


64  CLARA   MORELAND. 

ocean — surrounded  only  by  the  works  of  the  Almighty 
hand — what  is  he  ?  He  who  elsewhere  boasts  of  knowl- 
edge, of  greatness,  of  power — wj^at  is  he  here  ?  How 
small,  how  infinitesimally  small,  does  he  now  appear  unto 
himself !  and  how  insignificant,  when  compared  with  the 
vastness  of  all  around  him  !  He  beholds  nothing  but  the 
works  of  Almighty  God ;  and  feels  that  his  own  knowledge, 
however  great,  is  not  even  as  a  shadow  to  a  substance  to 
that  which  could  construct  Nature  and  fix  her  eternal 
laws ;  that  his  greatness  is  a  nothing  in  infinite  space ; 
that  his  power  is  less,  far  less,  than  the  weight  of  an  atom 
to  a  universe.  And  yet  this  same  man,  in  another  place, 
and  under  other  circumstances,  dares,  it  may  be,  through 
infatuated  conceit,  to  argue  against  the  perfection  of  cre- 
ation— to  impiously  question  the  wisdom  and  justice  of 
the  God  who  made  him !  Oh,  folly !  human  folly !  the 
glaring  exhibition  of  the  frailty  of  the  lowest  order  of 
being  made  in  the  image  of  Jehovah ! 

Such  were  some  of  my  reflections,  as,  with  my  half-dis- 
tracted companion,  I  dashed  over  the  prairie,  from  place 
to  pl^ce,  under  the  terrible  sensation  of  being  really  lost. 

But  though  much  alarmed,  my  fears  had  not  yet  reached 
that  point  at  which  hope  takes  flight  and  leaves  one  to 
despair.  No  !  I  felt  we  were  lost ;  but  I  doubted  not  we 
should  ultimately  find  the  road,  of  which  we  were  now  in 
quest,  and  be  able  to  gain  the  home  of  Clara  in  safety. 

And  why  we  had  not  yet  found  it,  is  a  mystery,  which, 
to  this  day,  I  am  unable  to  solve.  Surely,  we  had  ridden 
far  enough,  and  more  than  far  enough,  to  have  reached  it, 
even  allowing  for  the  variation  of  several  points  from  the 
course  pursued  on  leaving  it.  Could  it  be  possible  that  we 
had  touched  on  some  of  the  very  woodlands  we  were  seek- 
ing, without  recognizing  them  ?  It  might  be  so  ;  for  when 
one  has  become  bewildered  about  his  way,  places  the  most 


LOST   ON   THE   PRAIRIE.  65 

familiar  have  such  a  different  appearance  that  he  knows 
them  not.  ,  '^^ 

When  Yre  first  turned  back  to  retrace  our  steps,  so  con- 
fident was  I  of  going  right,  that  I  wouhi  have  wagered  my 
life  against  a  trifle  that  I  would  not  vary  twenty  paces 
from  striking  the  road  where  we  left  it.  And  yet  hours 
had  passed  since  then,  more  miles  had  been  gone  over  than 
we  had  first  traversed,  and  now  I  knew  not  where  we  were. 
Our  animals,  too,  were  fatigued ;  and  Clara  was  so  fright- 
ened, that  it  taxed  all  my  powers  of  reasoning  to  keep  up 
her  spirits  so  as  to  enable  her  to  sit  her  horse.  As  if  to 
make  matters  still  worse,  the  sun,  which  had  all  along 
shone  out  bright  and  clear,  now  became  obscured  by 
clouds,  which  floated  up  from  the  west,  and  I  no  longer 
had  even  that  guide  to  tell  me  what  direction  I  was  pur- 
suing. 

At  length  we  reached  a  woodland,  larger  than  any  we 
had  before  seen,  which,  gradually  rising  above  the  prairie 
around  it,  sloped  off  to  the  westward,  with  a  small  purling 
stream  of  pure  water  meandering  through  the  centre.  Thia 
woodland  wa8,about  a  mile  in  length  ;  and  on  leaving  it, 
the  brook  pursued  its  course  through  a  slight  valley,  where, 
in  the  loamy  soil,  it  had  cut  a  channel  for  itself  some 
twenty  feet  in  depth.  Fatigued  and  disheartened,  we  hal- 
ted under  the  trees,  and  for  a  brief  time  silently  gazed 
upon  each  other.  Clara,  pale  and  frightened,  was  the  first 
to  break  the  silence.  Wringing  her  hands,  in  the  agony 
of  despair,  she  exclaimed : 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Walton,  what  is  to  be  done  now  ?  We  are 
lost !  we  are  lost !  and  may  never  behold  our  friends 
again.     Oh,  merciful  God,  protect  us  !" 

"Do  not  despair!"  I  said,  assuming  a  cheerful  tone, 
tb.odgh  in  truth  my  heart  almost  died  within  me.    "  We 


66  CLARA  MORELAND. 

Bhall  certainly  be  able  to  find  some  habitation,  if  we 
pursue  any  one  course  far  enough." 

"  And  how  long  think  you  our  horses  will  hold  out, 
without  rest  and  refreshment?"  she  returned.  "See  how 
they  droop  now  !" 

"  Rest  atid  refreshment  they  must  have,"  I  replied  ; 
"and  whafei^etter  place  for  both  than  this  ?  Here  is  grass 
in  abundance,  and  here  is  water;  let  us  dismount  and  give 
them  an  hour  to  graze — by  that  time  they  will  be  able  to 
bear  us  many  a  mile  with  ease." 

"But  an  hour  will  bring  us  hard  upon  night,"  said 
Clara  ;  "  and  oh !  what  will  become  of  us  then  ?"  and  she 
fell  to  weeping  bitterly. 

I  endeavored  to  tranquilize  her — but  for  a  long  time 
without  success.  At  last  she  grew  calm ;  but  it  seemed 
the  calmness  of  despair,  rather  than  hope.  I  assisted  her 
to  dismount,  and  seated  her  under  a  large  oak,  near  which 
a  spring  bubbled  up  clear,  cold  water.  Having  watered 
the  horses  and  turned  them  loose,  I  constructed  a  sort  of 
cup,  of  fresh  leaves,  and  gave  Clara  to  drink. 

"Would  to  Heaven,"  I  said,  as  I  handed  it  to  her,  "I 
could  give  you  to  eat  also !  but  unfortunately  we  took  no 
food  with  us." 

"Starvation!"  returned  Clara,  looking  wildly  into  my 
face :  "  Starvation  !  yes,  that  is  it — that  will  be  our  doom  ! 
Oh,  Heaven!  what  a  fate  !" 

"  Nay,  Clara,  do  not  make  matters  appear  worse  than 
they  are,"  I  rejoined ;  "  for  I  pledge  you  my  solemn  word, 
I  can  supply  you  with  food  for  a  month,  should  such  a 
thing  be  necessary,  though  it  may  not  be  so  palatable  as 
I  could  wish." 

"  How  ?"  she  cried — "  how  can  you  get  food  here  V* 

"  I  have  my  pistols  with  me,  and  can  shoot  game  when 
it  comes  near  enough." 


LOST  ON  THE   PRAIRIE.  67 

"  Then  you  think  it  -will  be  a  month  ere  we  find  our  way 
back  to  my  father's  ?"  she  pursued,  in  the  same  wild 
manner. 

"  No,  I  think  no  such  thing,  Clara — for  I  trust  you  will 
see  your  father  ere  to-raorrow  night." 

"To-morrow  night!",  she  repeated,  slowly:  "to-mor- 
row night !"  And  then  quickly  :  "But  to-night  ?  what  of 
to-night?" 

"  Why,  unless  we  are  so  fortunate  as  to  find  some  habi- 
tation soon,  I  fear  we  shall  be  obliged  to  pass  it  in  the 
open  air." 

"  Oh  !  good  heavens!"  almost  shrieked  Clara,  as  if  the 
idea  had  struck  her  for  the  first  time  :  "  we  shall  be  torn 
to  death,  and  devoured  by  wild  beasts !" 

"  No  !  I  will  build  a  fire  and  keep  them  off — ^you  shall 
sleep  as  securely  as  in  your  father's  mansion." 

"  Sleep  ?"  she  repeated  :  "  why  mention  sleep  to  me  ? 
Think  you  I  can  sleep  with  the  doom  of  death  impending 
over  me  ?  Oh,  great  Heaven,  what  will  become  of  us  ? 
what  will  become  of  us?" 

I  saw  my  fair  companion  was  gradually  getting  more 
and  more  nervous ;  and  unless  I  could  rouse  her  from  the 
weight  of  despair  that  was  settling  down  upon  her,  I 
feared  the  loss  of  reason  might  be  one  of  the  consequences. 

"Clara,"  said  I,  gravely  and  sternly,  "you  are  the 
daughter  of  a  pioneer  and  soldier — but  to  hear  you  talk, 
one  would  suppose  the  blood  of  a  coward  ran  in  your 
veins." 

The  effect  produced  by  my  words  was  what  I  had  hoped 
it  would  be.  She  quickly  started  to  her  feet,  and  with 
glowing  cheeks  and  fiashing  eyes,  exclaimed : 

"  J^one  but  a  coward  would  insult  a  lady  unprotected 
and  in  distress." 

"  Nay,  I  meant  not  to  insult  you,  Clara,"  I  replied ; 


68  CLARA  MORELAND. 


"  but  you  must  yourself  admit,  that  neither  your  lan- 
guage nor  your  conduct,  for  the  last  three  hours,  has  been 
that  of  a  heroine." 

"Indeed,  sir!  Well,  you,  I  must  say,  have  been 
exceedingly  courageous,  coiisidering  there  has  been  no 
danger  to  try  your  nerves,"  she  returned,  haughtily. 

"  Exactly,  Miss  Moreland  ;  there  has  been  no  danger ; 
there  is  none  to  be  apprehended ;  therefore  your  gloomy, 
desponding  words  have  been  out  of  place." 

"  Very  well,  sir !  I  will  trouble  you  with  them  no 
more." 

"Come,  come,"  I  said,  "we  must  not  be  angry  with 
each  other.  If  I  have  said  any  thing  to  wound  your  feel- 
ings, I  can  honestly  avow  I  have  done  it  with  the  best  of 
motives.  In  the  way  you  were  going  on,  you  bade  fair  to 
do  yourself  an  injury,  ajid  I  took  this  course  to  prevent 
it." 

After  some  further  conversation  of  a  like  nature,  the 
anger  of  Clara  disappeared,  leaving  her  far  less  despon- 
dent than  before.  I  no  longer  had  any  fear  for  her 
reason. 

"I  know  I  am  a  foolish,  timid  girl,"  she  said;  "I 
always  was;  it  is  my  nature,  and  I'cannot  help  it;  though 
I  have  sometimes  thought,  that  in  the  moment  of  real  dan- 
ger, should  such  be  my  misfortune,  I  might  perhaps  show 
more  courage  than  one  who  has  only  known  me  under 
other  circumstances  would  naturally  expect  from  me." 

"I  doubt  it  not,"  I  replied  ;  "  for  the  bravest  are  not 
always  those  who  exhibit  the  most  courage  at  the  first 
approach  of  peril ;  nor  are  the  cowards  always  to  be  found 
among  those  who  tremble  and  turn  pale  at  the  first  alarm. 
But,  honestly  now,  I  see  no  good  reason  why  we  should 
get  frightened  at  our  situation.  True  it  is,  we  have  lost 
our  way ;  and  it  is  probable  we  shall  have  to  undergo 


LOST  ON   THE   PRAIRIE.  69 

much  that  is  disagreeable — and,  it  may  be,  suffer  some 
hardships,  ere  "we  get  back  to  Houston — to  say  nothing  of 
your  disappointment  in  not  seeing  your  aunt,  and  the 
alarm  that  your  friends  "will  feci,  if  they  by  chance  learn 
of  our  mysterious  disappearance :  but  beyond  all  this,  I 
have  not  much  apprehension  ;  and  if  we  only  had  •where- 
withal for  a  couple  of  meals,  I  think  I  could  even  pass  the 
night  in  tolerably  good  spirits." 

"For  myself,"  replied  Clara,  "I  could  not  eat;  and 
were  the  most  tempting  viands  now  before  me,  I  would 
not  taste  a  morsel.  But  what  do  you  propose  ?  what  is 
now  to  be  done  ?  The  sun  is  not  more  than  an  hour  and 
a  half  above  the  horizon,  and  it  behooves  us  to  think  about 
preparing  to  pass  the  night." 

"  Now,  Clara,  you  speak  to  the  point,  in  the  right  spi- 
rit ;  and  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  see  that  you  are  likely  to 
adapt  yourself  to  the  circumstances  without  any  vain  repin- 
ings.  Since  finding  this  stream,  the  idea  has  struck  me  that 
it  may  be  well  to  follow  it.  It  will,  I  think,  lead  us  to  a 
larger  stream — perhaps  the  Brazos;  and  once  that  is 
found,  we  are  sure  soon  to  reach  some  settlement  where 
we  can  procure  food  and  a  guide." 

"But  suppose,"  sii^gested  Clara,  "it  should,  instead, 
lead  us  deeper  into  the  wilderness,  and  further  from 
human  habitations  ?"  , 

"  We  must  run  our  chance,  of  course ;  but  I  know  of  no 
better  plan,  since  I  do  not  know  the  country  at  all." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Walton,  do  as  you  think  best — I  leave  it  all 
to  you." 

This  being  settled,  and  having  waited  a  sufficient  time 
to  refresh  our  horses  for  another  long  ride,  should  we  find 
it  necessary,  I  caught  and  bridled  them,  and  we  set  off 
down  the  bank  of  the  little  stream. 

When  we  reached  the  open  prairie — through  which,  as 


70  CLARA   MORI  LAND. 


I  have  said,  the  rivulet  flowed  in  a  deep  .channel — the  sun 
was  within  half  an  hour  of  setting.  This  I  knew  bj  my 
watch — for  the  sun  itself  was  so  obscured  by  clouds,  that 
its  position  in  the  heavens  was  not  discernible.  These 
clouds,  though  dark  and  thick,  did  not  appear  very  humid ; 
but  I  thought  them  precursors  of  a  storm  ;  and  I  felt 
deeply  anxious  to  find  some  shelter,  where  Clara  at  least 
could  be  protected  from  the  rain. 

For  miles  in  the  direction  we  were  going,  an  open  prai- 
rie lay  before  us  ;  but  in  the  extreme  distance  we  could 
see  the  line  of  a  forest,  extending  away  to  the  right  and 
left  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Knowing  that  the  bot- 
tom lands  of  the  large  water  courses  were  in  general  hea- 
vily timbered,  I  now  felt  my  spirits  revived  by  the  hope 
that  we  might  be  approaching  a  river  ;  and  if  so,  I  doubted 
not  we  should  soon  discover  some  habitation. 

Our  anxiety  therefore  to  reach  the  wood,  ere  night 
should  fairly  set  in,  mayreadily  be  imagined — and  we 
urged  our  horses  over  the  ground  at  their  fastest  pace. 
But  after  putting  miles  between  us  and  our  last  stopping 
place,  without  seemingly  drawing  any  nearer  to  the  forest, 
I  became  painfully  aware  in  how  great  a  degree  I  had  mis- 
calculated the  distance. 

The  truth  was,  we  had  first  beheld  this  line  of  forest 
from  high  ground — which  sloped  off  so  gradually  in  every 
direction,  that  to  us  it  appeared  entirely  level — and  it 
would  have  been  no  easy  matter  for  any  one  to  realize  that 
we  stood  more  than  a  thousand  feet  above  the  objects  at 
"which  we  were  aiming :  yet  such  was  the  fact. 

Could  we  have  passed  over  this  portion  of  country  under 
pleasant  circumstances,  I  should  have  been  enraptured 
with  the  scene.  Although  at  a  season  of  the  year  when 
our  northern  forests  put  on  the  variegated  hues  of  autumn ; 
and  the  flowers,  that  have  charmed  us  through  the  heats 


LOST  ON    THE    PRAIRIE.  71 


of  summer,  begin  to  fade  and  disappear ;  it  seemed  as  if 
Nature  had  just  received  the  recuperative  powers  of  gentle 
Spring,  and  was  charging  every  thing  with  a  fresh  new 
life. 

Never  before  had  I  seen  so  broad  a  field,  so  filled  with 
beautiful  flowers.  Millions  on  millions  of  every  kind,  of 
every  hue,  spread  over  the  teeming  earth.  Here  were 
dahlias  of  every  color,  from  snowy  white  to  dark  crimson ; 
trumpet  flowers  of  the  three  genera ;  geraniums,  hearts- 
eases, lupins,  lilies,  honey-suckles,  anemones,  jessamines, 
golden  rods,  passion  flowers,  primroses,  violets,  ladies-slip- 
pers, and  many  others  of  whose  names  I  am  ignorant. 

The  sun  had  now  fairly  set,  and  the  shades  of  advancing 
night  were  gradually  stealing  over  the  earth.  Insects 
began  their  evening  songs,  night-hawks  rose  and  swooped 
in  the  upper  air,  and  bats  flapped  their  wings  around  and 
above  us ;  while  more  than  once  the  howl  of  some  distant 
wolf  came  floating  on  the  breeze,  causing  our  horses  to 
snort  with  fear,  and  Clara  to  ride  closer  to  my  side,  with 
maidenly  timidity. 

Although  the  moon  was  at  the  full,  I  knew  that  the 
dark  clouds,  which  now  stretched  across  the  heavens  from 
west  to  east,  would  render  her  light  very  feeble ;  and  as  I 
contemplated  the  long  stretch  of  plain  before  us,  ere  we 
could  reach  even  the  shelter  of  the  woods,  I  began  to  re- 
gret that  we  had  quitted  our  last  stopping  place,  where  I 
could  at  least  have  collected  fuel  for  a  fire  while  the  light 
of  day  remained,  and  made  other  preparations  for  passing 
the  night  with  some  degree  of  safety,  if  not  comfort.  For 
a  few  minutes,  I  had  serious  thoughts  of  turning  back;  but 
when  I  reflected  that  it  would  be  dark  before  we  could 
reach  the  woodland,  I  thought  we  might  as  well  continue 
our  course,  and  perhaps  something  better  would  turn  up. 

Accordingly  we  rode  on  at  a  fast  gallop,  keeping  near 


72  CLARA    MORELAND. 

the  bank  of  the  stream,  of  which  we  had  resolved  not  to 
lose  sight.  Night  now  came  on  very  fast ;  and  to  increase 
our  discomfort,  it  began  to  lighten  in  the  west,  and  soon 
after  we  could  hear  the  faint  rumble  of  distant  thunder. 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  awful,  if  we  have  to  pass  the  night  ex- 
posed  to  the  fury  of  a  tempest !"  cried  Clara,  in  alarm. 

"We  may  find  a  shelter,"  was  my  only  reply,  as  I 
quickened  the  speed  of  our  horses. 

We  had  ridden  perhaps  a  mile  further— and  perceived 
with  dismay  the  rapid  advance  of  the  storm,  from  whose 
fury  there  seemed  to  be  no  means  of  escape — when,  looking 
away  to  the  left,  I  fancied  I  saw  a  dark  spot  on  the  plain. 
The  light  was  too  dim,  and  the  distance  too  far,  for  me  to 
make  out  what  it  was ;  but  thinking  it  might  be  a  rock,  a 
tree,  or  a  cluster  of  bushes,  either  of  which  might  afford 
some  little  protection,  I  determined  to  ride  toward  it.  We 
had  not  gone  many  rods  in  this  direction,  when  (joy  inex- 
pressible !)  from  the  centre  of  this  dark  object  we  beheld 
the  faint  gleam  of  a  light. 

"Thank  God!"  I  exclaimed,  rapturously,  seizing  the 
hand  of  my  fair  companion — "  we  are  at  last  drawing 
near  something  human." 

Clara  returned  the  pressure  of  my  hand  in  silence,  and 
wept  for  very  joy.  A  few  minutes  later  we  rode  up  to  this 
dark  object,  which  we  now  discovered  to  be  a  bushy  knoll, 
in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a  small  hut  or  cabin,  through 
one  of  whose  crannies  streamed  the  light  that  had  caught 
my  eye.  What  the  interior  of  this  singular  structure, 
standing  thus  isolated,  might  contain,  I  could  form  no 
idea ;  but  even  if  the  abode  of  desperadoes,  I  thought  it 
better  to  throw  ourselves  on  their  hospitality,  than  bide 
the  perils  of  the  night  on  the  open  plain. 

I  therefore  hallooed  at  once ;  but  getting  no  answer, 
and  hearing  no  movement  within,  I  repeated  my  call ;  and 


LOST  ON   THE  PRAIRIE.  73 


this  meeting  with  a  like  success,  I  dismounted,  and  push- 
ing through  the  bushes,  applied  mj  eye  to  a  crevice. 

I  beheld  a  small  apartment,  containing  nothing  that 
could  be  called  furniture.  A  rough  kind  of  a  slab 
bench  or  table  stood  before  me,  and  on  this  was  a  horn 
cup,  half  full  of  grease,  from  which  projected  a  burning 
wick.  This  was  all  I  could  distinctly  make  out;  and 
returning  to  Clara,  who  still  sat  on  her  horse,  trembling 
with  hope  and  fear,  I  informed  her  what  I  had  seen, 
adding : 

"  I  cannot  conjecture  what  sort  of  a  human  being  or 
beings  tenant  this  abode,  nor  whether  we  shall  be  welcome 
or  not ;  but  under  our  circumstances,  I  think  it  best  not 
to  be  fastidious,  nor  to  stand  on  ceremony.  Come,  let  us 
enter." 

Had  there  been  any  alternative  less  fearful  than  that 
of  passing  the  night  on  the  prairie,  Clara  would  have 
embraced  it ;  but  as  it  was,  she  tremblingly  alighted. 

Fastening  our  horses  to  the  bushes,  I  took  her  hand, 
and  we  proceeded  to  the  hut.  The  skin  of  a  wild  beast 
hung  at  the  entrance  in  place  of  a  door ;  and  pushing  this 
aside,  I  led  the  way  into  the  interior,  my  companion  fol- 
lowing, her  delicate  frame  quivering  like  an  aspen. 


CHAPTER     VI. 


THE   HERMIT. 


The  wretched  hovel  we  had  thus  entered  unbidden,  con- 
tained at  the  moment  no  person  but  ourselves.  It  was  a 
miserable  affair  indeed — being  constructed  of  sticks  and 
turf,  and  built  against  a  large  rock,  which  formed  one  of 
its  sides.  In  two  or  three  places  the  turf  of  the  walls  had 
crumbled  away,  forming  those  crannies  through  one  of 
which  we  had  seen  the  light.  There  was  no  chimney,  and 
no  outlet  besides  the  door. 

The  bushes  surrounding  this  singular  structure  had  been 
left  untouched ;  and  they  grew  so  high  and  so  close,  that 
one  might  have  ridden  past  in  broad  daylight,  without  dis- 
covering the  shanty  at  all,  or  even  suspecting  that  nature 
WJis  not  sole  master  of  the  ground. 

The  interior  was  in  keeping  with  all  the  rest.  Besides 
the  slab  table  and  its  primitive  lamp,  there  were  a  couple 
of  three-legged  stools,  a  box,  a  kettle,  a  gourd,  and  on 
some  wooden  pegs  hung  a  few  coarse  garments ;  while  in 
one  corner  was  a  litter  of  dried  grass,  which  probably 
formed  the  bed  of  its  strange  occupant. 

But  who  could  this  occupant  be  ?  and  why  did  he  or 
she  live  thus  isolated  ?  P'kubtless  some  anchorite,  I 
thought,  who,  having  renounced  the  world,  and  wishing 
never  more  to  commune  with  the  human  race,  had  secreted 
himself  on  our  approach,  to  remain  hidden  till  our 
departure. 

I  communicated  this  idea  to  Clara,  who,  as  sho 
(U) 


I 


THE   HERMIT.  75 


► 


glanced    timidly   around,    exclaimed,   in   a   low,    nervou3 
tone : 

"  I  shall  thank  Heaven  if  the  owner  of  this  abode  turn 
out  to  be  nothing  worse.  Ha  !  hark  !"  she.  said,  catching 
hold  of  me,  and  trembling  with  terror.  "  I  hear  steps  i — 
some  one  comes  ! — oh,  God  !  protect  us  !" 

As  she  spoke,  I  heard  a  rustling  of  the  bushes.  Step- 
ping in  front  of  Clara,  I  drew  one  of  my  revolvers,  and, 
keeping  it  out  of  sight,  faced  the  door,  ready  for  peace  or 
strife,  as  the  case  might  be. 

At  this  moment  the  skin  was  thrust  quickly  aside,  and 
a  flash  of  lightning,  that  almost  blinded  me,  displayed  the 
outlines  of  a  tall  figure  standing  in  the  entrance.  Then 
came  a  crash  of  thunder,  that  made  the  ground  quake 
under  me  ,  and  instinctively  Clara  threw  her  arms  around 
me,  with  a  cry  of  terror.  I  grasped  my  weapon  firmly, 
and  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  strang^if. 

For  a  few  moments  he  silently  regarded  us;  and  then, 
as  the  roar  of  the  thunder  died  away,  he  said,  in  a  clear, 
sonorous  tone : 

"  Peace  be  between  us  !" 

"  Amen  !  with  all  my  heart !"  returned  1. 

The  stranger  then  advanced  into  the  room ;  but  as  he 
came  near  the  light,  so  that  Clara  could  see  him  dis- 
tinctly, she  uttered  another  cry  of  fear,  and  clung  still 
closer  to  me,  as  if  for  protection. 

Nor  was  I  myself  very  favorably  impressed  with  the 
appearance  of  the  stranger,  as  I  surveyed  him  for  a 
moment  by  the  dim  light ;  and  notwithstanding  his  peace- 
ful language,  I  by  no  means  felt  disposed  to  throw  aside 
my  weapons  and  regard  him  as  a  harmless  friend. 

In  height  he  was  not  much  short  of  six  feet — thin  and 
gaunt — all  bone  and  muscle.  His  face  was  long,  pale, 
and  cadaverous ;  and  his  large,  black  eyes,  which  seemed 


76  CLARA   3I0RELAND. 


to  roll  restlessly  in  their  hollow  sockets,  had  a  wild,  un- 
settled expression.  Over  the  eyes  were  large,  bushy 
brows,  with  a  broad,  high  forehead,  which,  compared  with 
the  rest  of'  the  face,  most  of  whose  muscles  were  working 
in  some  manner,  seemed  to  remain  in  grave  repose,  as  if 
conscious  it  contained  a  master  intellect.  The  nose  was 
long,  of  the  Roman  type,  and  the  mouth  very  large,  with 
thick,  projecting  lips. 

It  was  difficult  to  tell,  after  long  and  close  study,  what 
were  the  predominant  propensities  of  this  singular  being; 
but  it  struck  me,  even  at  a  cursory  glance,  that  in  him  the 
animal  and  the  intellectual  warred  for  the  mastery ;  and 
that  in  spite  of  reason  and  conscience,  the  former  too 
often  obtained  a  temporary  victory.  It  was  not  a  face  I 
could  wish  near  me  under  favorable  circumstances,  and  I 
felt  I  could  now  have  dispensed  with  it  w^ithout  a  regret. 

Not  the  least  singular  part  of  this  strange  being  was  his 
dress;  and  this,  I  think,  had  as  much  to  do  with  the 
fears  of  Clara,  as  the  look  he  bestowed  upon  her.  From 
the  neck  to  the  knees  reached  a  long,  loose  frock  or  gown, 
made  of  bear-skin,  dressed  with  the  hair  on,  which  was 
worn  outside.  This  had  a  belt  around  the  waist,  but  was 
without  ornament  or  sleeves.  A  skull-cap  of  the  same 
material,  which  fitted  close  to  the  head,  and  concealed  the 
natural  hair,  if  there  were  any,  completed  his  attire.  Not 
a  single  other  garment,  that  I  could  discover,  had  he  on  ; 
and  his  long,  bony  arms,  hands  and  feet  were  entirely 
bare. 

In  the  belt  around  his  waist  was  carelessly  stuck  a  long 
hunting  knife,  and  this  appeared  to  be  his  only  weapon. 
A  large  cup,  which  he  placed  on  the  table,  containing 
water,  led  me  to  infer  that  he  had  just  returned  from 
filling  it  at  the  creek. 

"Well,"  he  resumed,  looking  hard  at  both  of  us,  but 


THE   HERMIT.  77 


letting  his  eyes  -wander  over  the  trembling  Clara,  with  an 
expression  I  did  not  like — at  the  same  time  drawing  in  his 
breath,  something  like  a  sigh,  and  puffing  it  out  with  the 
sentence — "you  have  lost  your  way,  I  think."  , 

"  And  why  do  you  think  so  ?"  I  returned. 

"  Because  you  are  here,  when  you  should  be  elsewhere. 
I  cannot  suppose  you  did  me  the  honor  to  come  here 
expressly  to  see  me." 

"  You  are  right,  sir ;  we  have  missed  our  way ;  and 
shall  be  very  thankful  for  any  information  that  will  enable 
us  to  get  back  to  our  friends.  We  left  Houston  a  little 
before  noon,  to  cross  the  prairie  to  a  small  village  called 
Centreville — but  where  we  are  now,  neither  of  us  have 
any  idea." 

"  To  the  best  of  my  knowledge,"  replied  the  stranger, 
"  you  are  about  thirty  miles  from  Houston,  and  at  least 
twenty  from  the  nearest  settlement." 

"  Strange,  that  we  could  so  have  missed  our  way !"  I 
rejoined.  "  But  in  what  locality  is  the  nearest  settle- 
ment ?" 

"  The  nearest  is  on  the  Brazos,  due  west  from  here." 

"  Too  far  to  ride  to-night,"  I  returned,  "with  our  tired 
horses — therefore  we  must  claim  hospitality  of  you." 

"I  had  rather  you  would  ride  on,"  said  the  stranger, 
gruffly.     "  I  like  not  to  associate  with  my  kind." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  I  replied,  sharply,  glancing  at  his  costume 
in  a  marked  manner,  "  with  such  as  make  beasts  of  them- 
selves, in  more  senses  than  one ;  but  in  this  world,  I  find, 
persons  have  to  put  up  sometimes  with  things  that  are 
?ery  disagreeable.  Surely,"  I  continued,  as  the  cabin 
shook  under  another  crash  of  thunder,  and  the  rain  began 
to  fall  in  torrents,  "  you  would  not  be  so  inhospitable  as 
to  ask  us  to  leave  in  such  a  storm  ?" 

7* 


78  CLaRA  moreland. 


"  No,"  he  answered :  "but  the  storm  will  not  last  long, 
and  there  is  a  moon." 

"  But  our  horses — " 

"  Oh !  they  will  take  us  through,"  cried  Clara,  eagerly, 
who  now  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "  They  will  surely  hold 
out  twenty  miles  :  let  us  go  !" 

At  the  first  sound  of  Clara's  voice,  our  strange  host 
fixed  his  large,  black  eyes  upon  her ;  and  an  expression 
came  over  his  countenance  that  made  me  tremble — it  was 
80  wild,  so  sinister,  and  partook  so  much  of  the  baser 
animal.  His  dark  eye-balls  assumed  a  reddish,  fiery  cast 
— his  nostrils  expanded — his  thick  lips  slightly  parted — 
and  his  whole  frame  seemed  to  tremble  with  brute  passion, 
partially  suppressed. 

At  one  moment  I  thought  him  about  to  spring  upon  the 
speaker,  and  seek  to  rend  her  like  a  madman ;  and  I  took 
care  to  so  hold  my  revolver,  that,  in  the  event  of  such  an 
attempt,  I  could  interpose  effectually. 

Fortunately,  Clara  did  not  notice  his  manner ;  and 
when  she  ceased  speaking,  he  pressed  his  hands  to  hia 
eyes,  for  a  moment — a  shudder  ran  through  his  frame — 
and  when  I  beheld  his  face  again,  it  seemed  more  calm 
and  composed  than  at  any  time  since  his  entrance. 

"She  says  well,"  he  said;  "instinct,  if  not  reason, 
should  teach  her  to  fear  her  worst  enemy.  She  desires  to 
go  and  I  pray  to  be  delivered  from  temptation.  I  am  a 
curse  to  myself,  a  wo  to  my  fellow  man,  and  a  living  dis- 
grace to  my  name  and  race.  There  are  times  when  a 
child  could  lead  me  to  humble  myself  before  the  Cross  of 
the  Redeemer — and  there  are  times  when  the  arch-devil 
of  hell  is  not  more  of  a  demon  than  I." 

I  gazed  on  this  strange  being  as  he  spoke ;  and  instinc- 
tively I  shrunk  back  as  from  a  madman ;    while  Clara 


THE   HERMIT.  79 


clung  to  me  in  speechless  terror.     The  awful  idea  that  he 
was  a  maniac,  began  to  chill  my  blood  with  horror. 

He  seemed  to  read  my  thoughts,  as  his  large,  black 
eyes,  in  their  hollow  sockets,  rolled  slowly  over  my  person 
and  fastened  upon  my  face.  A  grim  smile  stole  over  his 
features,  and  he  resumed  : 

"You  think  me  mad — but  alas!  you  are  mistaken. 
Would  to  Heaven  I  were  mad  !  for  then  I  should  not  be 
accountable  for  my  deeds.  But  reason  is  here,"  putting 
his  hand  to  his  forehead ;  "  and  conscience  here,"  re- 
moving it  to  his  heart — "  dooming  me  to  unutterable 
misery. 

"  You  see  me  here,  in  this  squalid  place,  afar  from 
human  beings.  I  sought  this  spot  to  avoid  my  kind ; 
and  with  my  own  hands  I  built  this  hovel,  where  I 
thought  none  would  find  me.  And  this  I  did,  that  I 
might  worship  God  in  secret,  do  penance  for  my  past 
transgressions,  and  avoid  temptation.  You  seem  aston- 
ished, as  well  you  may  be.  It  is  not  likely  you  ever 
before  gazed  upon  a  wretch  like  me,  or  ever  will  again. 
I  hope  not ;  for  the  old  proverb,  that  *  misery  likes  com- 
pany,' finds  no  hold  in  my  heart. 

"No,"  he  continued,  sadly,  "bad  as  I  am,  I  wish  man- 
Kind  well;  and  that  I  may  do  my  kind  no  more  wrong, 
have  I  left  the  haunts  of  men,  I  trust  forever.  Would 
you  believe  it^  sir  ?  I  was  well  born,  and  well  educated — 
had  once  many  friends  and  kindred,  who  looked  upon  me 
"with  pride,  and  who  even  thought  that  I  would  be  an 
honor  to  my  name.  Alas  !  how  little  they  knew  me. 
Passion — wild,  uncontrollable  passion — led  me  to  destruc- 
tion.    In  an  evil  moment  I — " 

At  this  instant  a  crash  of  thunder  interrupted  his 
speech.  He  started,  and  looking  wildly  around,  ex- 
claimed : 


80  CLARA    MORELAND. 


"  You  see  the  very  elements  would  cut  short  a  confes- 
Bion  from  •which  you  would  shrink  with  horror  !  Thank 
God  !  I  have  not  made  it !" 

He  seated  himself,  and  burying  his  face  in  his  hands, 
rocked  to  and  fro,  muttering  words  to  himself  which  I  did 
not  understand. 

"  As  soon  as  the  storm  is  over,  Clara,  we  will  go,"  I 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  to  my  fair  companion — "  for  I  would 
rather  trust  myself  alone  on  the  plain,  than  here,  in  such 
company." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  let  us  go — he  terrifies  me  !"  she  answered, 
still  clinging  to  me,  and  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  object  of 
her  dread. 

The  lightning  was  now  playing  around  us  vividly — the 
thunder  rolled  and  crashed — and  the  rain,  driven  fiercely 
by  the  blast,  beat  hard  against  our  earthen  tenement,  and 
soaking  through  the  turf,  or  pouring  through  the  crevices, 
began  to  wet  the  ground  under  our  feet.  It  was  a  dreary, 
dismal  scene  within,  and  a  fearful  night  without.  I 
thought  of  our  horses,  and  fdlt  very  uneasy  lest  they 
might  break  loose  and  leave  ns,  and  thus  sadly  increase 
the  disagreeableness  of  our  situation.  I  dared  not  ven- 
ture out  to  them,  and  leave  Clara  alone  with  the  stranger, 
and  I  could  not  think  of  exposing  her  delicate  frame  to 
the  peltings  of  the  storm. 

At  length  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  the  stranger 
would  see  to  them,  and  I  thus  addressed  him : 

"  Sir !  you  have  said  you  are  anxious  we  should  leave 
you !  and  the  moment  this  storm  is  over  we  will  do  so, 
provided  our  horses  do  not  get  away  from  us.  I  left  them 
fastened  to  the  bushes — could  I  presume  on  your  kindness 
to  see  if  they  are  still  there  ?" 

ne  raised  his  head,  with  an  air  of  offended  pride,  and 
replied,  sharply  • 


THE   HEKMIT.  81 


"Am   I   a   hostler,  sirrah?     Why  go   you  not  your 
self?" 

"Because  of  my  companion,  whom  I  neither  wish  to 
leave  nor  take  with  me." 

"  Ah  !  true,"  he  rejoined,  softening  his  tone :  "  I  under- 
stand. Yes,  I  will  go — for  what  care  I  for  the  storm  ? — 
it  will  hardly  spoil  these  garments;"  and  with  a  grim 
smile  he  went  out. 

"  Oh !  let  us  begone  from  here,  Mr.  Walton — do  !"  cried 
Clara,  in  a  trembling  tone,  as  the  other  disappeared. 
"Heavens!  what  an  awful  being! — and  how  wicked  he 
looks  at  us  I" 

"  Do  not  seem  to  fear  him,"  I  replied;  "and  do  not,  in 
reality,  be  alarmed.  I  have  my  weapons  safe,  and  he 
shall  not  harm  you." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  stranger  returned. 

"I  have  brought  your  horses  to  the  door,"  he  said: 
"  they  will  be  safer  here :  but  do  you  not  think  they  would 
be  better  for  a  little  corn  ?" 

"  If  you  have  any  for  them,  I  will  pay  you  well  for  it," 
said  I. 

"  Pay  !"  he  replied,  again  drawing  himself  up  proudly. 
"  I  keep  no  hostelry,  sir  !  I  give — I  do  not  sell !  Ta.jy 
indeed  1  I  would  not  touch  your  vile  coin,  that  '  root  of  all 
evil,*  except  to  cast  it  from  me,  and  say,  '  Get  thee 
behind  me,  Satan  !'  " 

With  this  he  approached  the  dried  grass  before  men 
tioned  as  serving  for  a  bed,  pushed  it  aside,  raised  a  flat 
stone,  and  from  a  small  cavity  thus  disclosed,  took  out 
several  ears  of  corn.  As  he  passed  the  slab-table,  on  his 
way  to  the  horses,  he  laid  a  couple  of  the  ears  upon  it ; 
and  on  his  return  he  pointed  to  them,  with  another  grim 
smile,  and  said : 

"  You  see,  my  guests,  your  horses  fare  as  well  as  your 
6 


82  CLARA    MOHEI.AND. 


host.  This  is  my  evening  meal.  Come,  "will  you  not  join 
me?" 

I  thanked  him,  but  politely  declined  the  tempting  offer 
of  eating  dried  corn  in  the  kernel. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  like  the  way  in  which  it  is  served 
up,"  he  resumed,  with  a  touch  of  sarcastic  humor;  "but 
Dame  Nature  has  a  way  of  her  own  in  these  matters ;  and 
though  it  is  generally  believed  that  she  succeeded  in 
pleasing  our  first  parents,  yet  we  moderns,  having  become 
very  fastidious,  are  continually  devising  means  to  make 
improvements  on  what  was  before  perfect,  and  tickle  our 
palates  to  our  own  detriment.  Did  man  take  things  more 
as  Nature  gives  them  to  him,  he  would  be  longer  lived,  and 
have  less  need  of  poisonous  drugs." 

As  he  spoke,  he  raked  off  a  large  mouthful  of  the  kernels 
with  his  teeth,  and  began  to  chew  them. 

"And  so,"  said  I,  somewhat  amused,  and  willing  to 
humor  this  singular  being,  "  you  think  our  food  should  be 
devoured  as  Nature  gives  it  to  us  ?" 

"Undoubtedly,  in  most  cases,"  he  replied.  "Do 
animals  prepare  their  food  ?  and  yet  how  seldom  do  you 
Bee  animals  require  medicine  !" 

"  And  would  you  have  intellectual  man  do  as  the 
brutes  ?" 

"I  would  have  him  as  wise  as  the  brutes,  sir,  in  the 
matter  of  eating,  so  as  to  preserve  his  health.  I  am  an 
advocate,  sir,  for  natural  simplicity,  in  food  and  dress,  as 
you  can  perceive." 

"  Yes,"  returned  I,  "  it  is  easily  seen  that  art  has  but 
little  to  do  with  your  way  of  living.  But  though  I  were 
certain,  that,  by  following  your  example,  I  should  add  a 
Bcore  of  years  to  life,  I  do  not  think  the  temptation  would 
be  sufficient  to  make  me  a  disciple  of  your  school." 

"  No,  you  are  like  the  generality  of  mankind — fond  o* 


THE   HERMIT.  83 


luxury,  ease,  and  pleasure,'*  he  rejoined,  with  something 
like  a  sneer.  "  Go  your  way,  sir,  to  destruction  ! — live  a 
quick  life,  and  get  a  speedy  death." 

As  I  made  no  reply  to  this,  he  proceeded  to  devour  his 
corn,  washing  it  down  with  water  from  the  cup,  and 
occasionally  muttering  to  himself. 

Having  finished  his  meal,  he  laid  his  hare  arms  on  the 
table,  and  rested  his  face  upon  them.  In  this  position  he 
remained  for  hi^lf  an  hour,  I  saying  nothing  to  disturb  his 
reverie. 

By  this  time  the  fury  of  the  storm  was  spent;  and 
eager  to  get  away,  we  began  to  move  toward  the  door  to 
remount  our  horses.  He  heard  our  steps,  I  suppose;  for 
he  started  up  rather  quickly,  saying ; 

"Are  you  going?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "we  are  about  to  leave  you,  with 
many  thanks  for  your  kindness,  since  you  will  accept  of 
nothing  more  substantial." 

"How  beautiful !"  he  exclaimed,  again  fixing  his  gaze 
on  the  terrified  Clara,  while  the  same  wild,  fiery  expression 
began  to  gleam  from  his  dark  eyes.  "But  go!  go!"  he 
added,  quickly:  "take  her  from  my  sight! — deliver  me 
from  temptation  !     In  Heaven's  name,  go  !" 

Clara  needed  no  further  urging;  and  ere  the  words 
were  fairly  out  of  his  mouth,  she  had  vanished  through  the 
door-way — while  I  merely  loitered  a  moment,  to  cover  her 
retreat. 

Our  hermit  host,  however,  showed  no  disposition  to 
follow  us ;  but  resumed  his  seat  at  the  taWe,  the  instant 
Clara  was  out  of  sight. 

Seeing  this,  I  made  any  thing  but  a  slow  exit,  not 
knowing  how  soon  some  troublesome  freak  might  seize 
upon  this  worthy  advocate  of  natural  simplicity. 

It  was  still  raining ;  but  the  body  of  the  storm  had 


84  CLARA  MORELAND. 


passed  over ;  and  a  streak  of  clear  sky  in  the  west,  with 
broken  clouds  overhead,  their  edges  silvered  by  the  rays 
of  the  moon,  seemed  to  assure  us  we  should  have  fair 
weather  soon,  and  a  delightful  night  above  us,  whatever 
might  be  our  fortune  below. 

We  found  our  horses  at  the  door,  and  were  quickly  in 
the  saddles ;  and  then  I  experienced  a  feeling  of  security, 
to  which,  for  the  last  hour,  I  had  been  a  stranger. 

I  now  called  to  the  Hermit,  and  inquired  the  most 
direct  route  to  the  nearest  settlement. 

"I  told  you  once,  due  west,"  he  answered,  in  a  gruff 
tone,  from  within. 

"Are  yonder  woods  the  timber  lands  of  the  Brazos?"  I 
inquired. 

The  answer  being  in  the  affirmative,  we  were  on  the 
point  of  starting  our  horses  forward  through  the  bushes, 
when  Clara  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  eager  tone : 

"Hark!  what  is  that?" 

I  listened,  and  heard  a  dull,  rumbling  sound,  which  at 
first  I  thought  to  be  distant  thunder.  But  the  noise, 
instead  of  dying  away,  seemed  to  draw  nearer ;  and  my 
next  conjecture  was,  that  it  was  a  stampede  of  wild  horses. 

As  the  sound  still  continued  to  become  more  audible,  I 
was  fearful  some  of  the  animals  might  rush  through  the 
thicket ;  and  to  protect  ourselves,  we  drew  close  up 
against  the  hut,  on  the  southern  side. 

Scarcely  had  we  done  so,  when  a  number  of  the  animals 
seemed  to  be  rushing  past  us,  to  the  right  and  left,  outside 
of  the  thicket^  and  the  next  moment  our  ears  were  greeted 
with  a  series  of  diabolical  yells,  that  appalled  us  with 
horror,  and  sent  the  blood  curdling  to  our  hearts. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


WE  ARE   MADE   PRISONERS. 


I 


A  SUDDEN  stillness  succeeded  these  horrible  yells,  the 
trampling  of  horses  was  no  longer  heard,  and  I  knew  that 
we  were  completely  surrounded  by  a  large  body,  of 
Indians. 

An  awful  sickening  feeling  came  over  me,  as  I  contem- 
plated our  probable  doom.  Death,  speedy  and  bloody — 
or,  what  was  scarcely  a  less  terrible  alternative,  a  wretched 
captivity.  Poor  Clara !  what  a  fate  for  her !  In  that 
fearful  moment,  could  I  have  purchased  her  freedom  and 
safety  with  my  life,  I  would  freely  have  given  it. 

A  thousand  thoughts  now  crowded  themselves  upon  me 
at  once — for  in  moments  of  extreme  peril,  the  mind  seems 
to  expand  so  as  to  grasp  a  hundred  subjects  at  the  same 
time.  I  thought  of  home  and  the  friends  there,  and  what 
painful  affliction  the  mystery  of  my  fate  would  cause  them. 
I  thought  of  myself — young,  just  setting  out  in  life,  and 
with  every  thing  to  make  life  desirable — doomed  to  hope- 
less misery  or  death.  I  thought  of  Harley — of  Viola — of 
Clara — of  her  parents — her  brother — her  aunt — what  all 
these  last  must  think  and  say  of  us.  And  all  this,  and 
much  more,  in  that  space  of  time  which  is  measured  by  two 
vibrations  ^f  the  pendulum  of  a  clock  !  Surely,  intellect  is 
Godlike  !  and  possesses,  though  in  a  very  limited  degree, 
the  omnipresent  attribute  of  Deity. 

The  yells  of  the  savages  1  ad  so  terrified  Clara  as  to 

8  85 


86  CLARA  MORELAND. 


render  her  incapable  of  speech  or  motion  ;  and  this  1 
thought  so  far  fortunate,  that  we  had  not  betrayed  our- 
selves to  them ;  and  if,  as  I  hoped,  they  knew  not  of  our 
presence  within  the  thicket,  there  was  a  bare  possibility  we 
might  yet  escape.  I  dared  not  communicate  this  to  my 
companion,  even  in  a  whisper — for  I  had  often  read  of  the 
keenness  of  the  Indian  ear  in  catching  and  distinguishing 
Bounds — but  I  put  my  finger  to  her  lips,  as  a  sign  that  I 
wished  her  to  remain  perfectly  silent.  She  did  so,  whe- 
ther she  understood  my  meaning  or  not. 

Presently  I  heard  a  movement  ia  the  bushes ;  and  di- 
rectly after,  a  deep,  guttural  voice,  addressing  some  words 
in  an  unknown  tongue  to  the  strange  being  within"  the  hut. 
The  latter  seemed  to  understand  the  Indian,  for  he  replied, 
apparently  in  the  same  language.  I  then  heard  him  mo- 
ving about  inside,  as  if  collecting  some  of  his  things  for  a 
sudden  departure.  In  a  few  moments  he  quitted  the  hut, 
and  spoke  some  words  to  the  Indian  outside,  when  both 
moved  away  together. 

I  now  really  beg&n  to  entertain  some  hope  that  we 
should  be  overlooked  and  left  to  ourselves^-though  I  trem- 
bled at  the  idea  that  our  late  host  might  betray  us.  I  am 
inclined  to  think,  however,  I  did  him  injustice  by  this  sus- 
picion ;  but,  at  all  events,  my  horse,  at  this  critical  instant, 
gave  a  loud  snort ;  and  iny  heart  died  within  me,  for  I  felt 
that  it  was  in  vain  to  hope  for  concealment  longer. 

I  now  heard  exclamations,  as  of  surprise,  among  the 
savages;  and  then  something  uttered  in  a  commanding 
tone,  as  by  one  invested  with  authority.  Then  the  voice 
of  the  Hermit,  as  I  will  term  the  owner  of  the  hut  by  way 
of  convenience,  called  out  to  us :  I 

"  Ride  out  here,  my  friends,  and  surrender  yourselves 
prisoners.  Resistance  will  not  avail  you,  and  to  attempt 
It  will   cost  you  your  lives." 


WE  ARE  MADE   PRISONERS.  87 

"  Alas  !  dear  Clara,  we  are  doomed,"  I  said. 

"  May  God  protect  us  !"  she  replied,  in  a  low,  sad  tone, 
which,  greatlj  to  my  surprise,  seemed  in  no  degree  tremu- 
lous. 

We  now  rode  out  of  the  thicket  upon  the  plain,  and 
were  immediately  surrounded  by  some  eight  or  ten  dis- 
mounted Indians,  among  whom  was  the  Hermit.  The 
latter  came  up  to  my  side,  and  said : 

*'  My  friendy  I  am  sorry  for  you — but  it  was  no  fault  of 
mine." 

"  What  will  be  done  with  us  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Of  that  I  know  no  more  than  yourself,"  he  answered. 
**  As  you  have  made  no  resistance,  I  think  your  lives  are 
safe  for  the  present." 

"What  tribe  is  this?" 

"The  warriors  were  originally  from  various  tribes;  but 
are  now  organized  under  one  leader,  and  term  themselves 
Wepecoolahs — which,  in  English,  signifies  Forest-Rangers 
The  name  of  their  chief  is  Kenneloo,  or  Death-Arrow." 

"  You  are,  then,  no  stranger  to  them  ?" 

"Alas !  no,  we  are  too  well  acquainted." 

"  Then  since  you  know  them,  and  can  speak  their  lan- 
guage, perhaps  you  can  prevail  upon  the  chief  to  release 
us,  or  put  us  to  ransom  !"  I  rejoined,  eagerly.  "  Oh  !  sir, 
if  you  can  and  will  do  this,  I  will  hold  my  life  as  yours  to 
dispose  of." 

"I  will  do  what  I  can,"  he  replied;  "but  count  not  too 
much  on  my  influence  with  this  bloody  chief,  for  I  am  a 
prisoner  myself." 

"How  !  you  a  prisoner? — you  seem  to  be  free." 

"  I  am  not  bound — for  I  have  pledged  my  word  not  to 
escape,  and  Kenneloo  knows  he  can  trust  me — but  still  I 
am  none  the  less  a  prisoner." 

*  And  what  do  they  intend  to  do  with  you  ?' 


88  CLARA    MOREL  AND. 

"  They  say  I  must  go  with  them — but  for  what  purpose 
I  have  not  yet  been  informed." 

While  the  Hermit  and  I  were  thus  conversing,  the  group 
^f  dismounted  savages  had  been  walking  slowly  around 
Clara  and  myself,  examining  us,  our  horses  and  equip- 
ments. They  put  their  hands  on  the  necks  of  our  beasts, 
and  let  them  slide  down  their  breasts ;  they  felt  of  their 
flanks,  and  then  of  us,  and  peered  into  our  faces.  Appa- 
rently they  were  satisfied  with  the  capture  of  what  had 
cost  them  nothing,  for  they  gave  several  grunts  of  ap- 
proval, and  then  held  a  short  consultation  among  them- 
selves. They  then  called  the  Hermit  to  their  council ;  and 
after  an  absence  of  a  few  minutes,  he  returned  to  me,  and 
said : 

"  I  am  desired  by  Kenneloo  to  inform  you,  that  unless 
you  attempt  to  escape,  your  lives  for  the  present  are  safe. 
You  will  also  be  allowed  for  the  present  to  retain  your 
horses,  and  will  be  sent  off  under  an  escort  of  four  trusty 
warriors." 

"  Sent  whither  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  have  not  been  informed — probably  to  the  village  of 
the  Wepecoolahs,"  he  replied. 

"And  what  will  become  of  the  others,  meantime?" 

"Indians,"  he  answered,  gravely,  "never  venture  this 
far  into  the  territory  of  the  whites,  except  for  trade  or 
plunder ;  and  you  may  draw  your  own  conclusion  as  to  the 
purpose  of  the  present  party,  when  I  inform  you  they 
carry  nothing  but  deadly  weapons." 

"  And  go  you  with  them,  to  aid  them  in  their  bloody 
designs  upon  your  race  ?" 

"I  go  with  them,  an  unwilling  prisoner,  sir,"  he  replied, 
haughtily;  "  and  I  thank  you  not  for  your  base  suspicions."- 

"  I  only  meant  to  inquire  if  it  were  their  intention  to 
put  you  to  80  severe  a  trial,"  I  hastened  to  rejoin,  in  a 


WE   ARE   MADE   PRISONERS.  89 

conciliating  tone.  "  If  I  wounded  your  feelings,  I  crave 
your  pardon !  But  did  you  state  my  proposition  to  the 
chief,  of  putting  us  to  ransom?" 

"  I  did ;  but  he  will  not  do  so  for  the  present.  Much 
will  depend  upon  the  success  of  this  expedition,  whether  or 
not  you  ever  regain  your  freedom." 

"  And  are  there  no  terms  on  which  he  will  set  my  com- 
panion at  liberty?" 

The  Hermit  walked  away  to  the  chief,  spoke  aside  with 
him  for  a  few  moments,  and  returning,  replied :  ^ 

"  No,  she  must  go  with  you ;  and  if  you  attempt  to  es- 
cape, and  succeed,  her  life  will  be  sacrificed." 

"  Alas !  poor  Clara  !  would  to  Heaven  I  could  save  you, 
even  with  my  life,  from  so  dire  a  fate  !"  I  said,  taking  her 
hand,  as  we  sat  side  by  side  on  our  horses. 

"  I  would  not  accept  liberty  at  any  sacrifice  to  yourself, 
Mr.  Walton,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  deep 
emotion.  And  then,  after  a  brief  pause,  she  added,  with 
what  seemed  an  impulsive  gush  of  feeling :  "  No,  Henry 
Walton — dear  Henry — I  would  go  with  you  even  to  the 
grave." 

This  language  of  endearment,  expressive  of  the  deepest 
and  purest  afi'ectfon,  coming  so  unexpectedly  from  the  lips 
of  Clara,  made  my  heart  beat  wildly;  and  for  a  few  mo- 
ments I  hardly  knew  which  emotion  predominated — joy  at 
the  avowal,  or  grief  for  the  peculiar  circumstances  which 
drew  it  forth.  I  was  at  once  the  happiest  and  the  most 
mis'erable  of  men:  happy,  in  knowing  that  Clara  truly 
loved  me — miserable,  in  remembering  that  we  were  both 
captives  to  a  barbarous  foe. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  Clara,  for  these  sweet  words  !"  I 
hastened  to  reply;  "and  whatever  may  be  my  fate,  they 
shall  mark  a  green  spot  on  the  waste  of  life ;  and  I 
will  treasure  them  in  my  heart  of  hearts  forever." 

8* 


00  CLARA    MORELAND. 


"  At  this  moment  the  moon  streamed  her  soft  rays  through 
the  broken  clouds,  and  bathed  us  in  a  flood  of  silver  light. 
I  caught  at  it  as  a  favorable  omen. 

"Behold!"  I  cried;  "light  breaks  in  upon  darkness, 
and  tranquility  again  reigns  where  so  late  the  elements 
waged  terrific  battle  !  The  storm  of  adversity  has  fallen 
upon  us ;  but,  I  trust  in  God,  it  will  pass,  and  that  the  sun 
of  prosperity  will  once  more  make  glad  our  hearts,  even  as 
yon  queen  of  night  casts  her  mild  radiance  over  a  scene  so 
lately  wrapt  in  awful  gloom." 

As  I  said  this  in  a  low  tone  to  Clara,  an  Indian  rode  in 
between  us,  and  another  on  the  other  side  of  me ;  when 
both  proceeded  to  fasten  my  arms  in  such  a  way  that  I 
could  make  no  other  use  of  them  than  to  hold  the  reins 
and  guide  my  beast.  But  I  was  thankful  for  even  this 
privilege,  when  I  might  have  been  put  to  so  much  severer 
treatment ;  and  which,  in  fact,  I  rather  expected  than 
otherwise. 

Having  made  my  hands  fast,  they  proceeded  to  search 
my  person,  taking  away  my  revolvers,  my  watch,  money, 
and  such  other  articles  as  I  chanced  to  have  about  me. 
The  watch,  pistols,  and  money,  seemed  to  afford  them  an 
agreeable  surprise ;  for  they  uttered  grunts  of  delight ; 
and  riding  away  a  few  paces,  they  dismounted,  and  col- 
lected their  companions  around  them,  to  the  number  of 
more  than  fifty. 

The  moon  now  shining  out  bright  and  clear,  I  had  a 
fair  view  of  the. whole  party,  as  one  after  the  other  they 
busied  themselves  in  handling  the  revolvers — whose  nume- 
rous barrels  seemed  to  strike  them  as  very  curious — and 
the  watch,  whose  regular  ticking  caused  them  great 
wonder  and  delight. 

They  were  a  villanous  looking  body  of  men — half- 
naked,  bedaubed  with  paint,  their  faces  streaked  black  and 


TVE   ARE   MADE   TKISONERS.  91 

red,  and  their  crowns  shaved,  all  but  a  single  tuft  of  hair 
in  the  centre,  which  was  adorned  with  the  feather  of  some 
wild  bird — with  bows  in  their  hands,  sheafs  of  arrows  to 
their  backs,  and  tomahawks  and  scalping-knives  in  their 
girdles ;  but  notwithstanding  their  fierce,  formidable,  and 
utterly  disagreeable  appearance — and  notwithstanding 
that  I  was  their  prisoner,  whom  death  only  might  release 
from  captivity — I  could  scarcely  avoid  laughing  at  the 
comical  gravity  they  displayed  over  the  watch,  each  appa- 
rently attempting  to  be  more  wise  and  knowing  than  his 
companions.  One  would  take  it,  examine  it  attentively, 
particularly  its  face,  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  turn  it  over 
and  over,  put  it  to  his  ear,  and  then,  with  the  manner  of 
one  who  had  made  some  important  discovery,  would  point 
out  something  that  had  struck  him  as  peculiar,  and 
hand  it  to  the  next,  with  a  self-satisfied  air  that  was  truly 
ridiculous. 

Thus  it  went  from  one  to  another — the  revolvers  follow- 
ing next  in  the  examination,  and  going  the  same  round ; 
and  when  the  last  one  of  the  party  had  given  an  opinion 
of  his  own  on  the  articles,  the  Hermit — who,  with  folded 
arms,  had  been  standing  silently  apart — was  called  up  to 
the  group,  and  all  seemed  to  turn  to  him,  as  to  one  unani- 
mously chosen  umpire,  to  decide  which  was  right. 

This  proceeding  probably  occupied  some  quarteu  of  an 
hour,  which  time  I  spent  in  conversing  with  Clara,  in  a 
low  tone.  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  one  who  had 
been  so  timid  at  the  bare  thought  of  danger,  so  calm  and 
firm  in  the  real  moment  of  peril ;  and  I  called  to  mind 
her  words  when  speaking  of  such  an  event.  Her  face,  as 
I  beheld  it  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  was  very  pale — the 
lips  seemed  unusually  compressed — and  the  eyes,  those 
soft,  melting  blue  eyes,  had  a  clear,  resolute  expression, 
that  bespoke   a  firmness  of  character  far  beyond  what 


92  CLARA  MOITlilLAND. 


I  had  ever  given  her  credit  for  possessing.  The  look  alto- 
gether was  rather  stern  than  timid — every  feature  was 
composed — not  a  single  member  of  the  body  appeared  to 
quiver — and  I  could  not  detect  the  slightest  tremor  in  her 
voice. 

She  spoke  of  our  captivity  as  a  sad  event;  but  said 
that  our  lives  were  in  the  hand  of  God — that  in  him  she 
put  her  trust — and  that  whatever  might  happen,  she 
prayed  for  resignation  to  say,  *' Thy  will,  0  God!  not 
mine,  be  done  !"  She  said  her  loss  would  be  a  very 
severe  blow  to  her  family,  and  she  feared  that  evil  tongues 
might  start  some  scandalous  tale  of  our  being  absent 
together ;  but  even  of  this — of  home,  and  all  connected 
therewith — she  spoke  with  a  calmness,  a  lofty  resignation, 
that  astonished  me ;  and  if  I  loved  her  before,  as  one 
loves  a  tender  object  needing  protection,  I  now  mingled 
with  that  love  a  certain  feeling  of  admiration,  which  only 
superior  qualities  can  excite. 

As  soon  as  the  Hermit  had  answered  the  questions  pro- 
pounded to  him,  he  and  the  chief  advanced  to  my  side. 
The  latter  was  a  large,  athletic  Indian  ;  but  save  a  few 
extra  ornaments,  in  the  way  of  feathers — if  such  things 
indeed  could  be  called  ornaments — I  could  perceive 
nothing  to  distinguish  him  from  his  fellows. 

"  K^nneloo,"  said  the  Hermit,  addressing  me,  "would 
know  how  many  watches  you  are  willing  to  give  for  your 
ransom,  and  that  of  your  companion?" 

"Ask  him  to  name  the  number  he  will  accept,"  I  re- 
plied, eagerly. 

The  two  held  a  brief  conversation,  when  the  Hermit 
rejoined : 

"  He  will  take  a  hundred." 

"And  I  will  give  them,"  was  my  answer. 


WE   ARE   MADE   PRISONERS.  93 

* . 

Again  the  Hermit  spoke  with  the  chief;  and  then  con- 
tinued to  me : 

"  But  how,  when,  and  where,  is  he  to  obtain  them  ?" 

"  I  will  deliver  them  at  any  place  he  may  name,  within 
a  reasonable  distance,  and  within  ten  days  from  our  reach- 
ing Houston." 

This  was  translated  to  the  chief,  who  only  slightly  un- 
derstood English ;  and  he  was  in  the  act  of  making  some 
reply  to  the  Hermit,  when  we  were  all  startled  by  the  re- 
port of  a  pistol. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  great  commotion  among  the 
Indians ;  and  immediately  some  fifteen  or  twenty  came 
running  toward  us,  uttering  yells  of  rage. 

Their  object,  as  I  soon  learned,  was  to  sacrifice  Clara 
and  myself  on  the  spot ;  but  their  bloody  design  was  frus- 
trated by  the  chief,  who  promptly  interposed,  and  inquired 
into  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

It  seems  that  in  handling  the  revolvers,  some  one  had 
discovered  the  trigger  of  one,  had  pulled  it  down  to  its 
place,  and,  bent  on  new  discoveries,  had  pressed  his  finger 
hard  against  it,  by  which  means  one  of  the  barrels  had  in- 
stantly been  discharged,  lodging  a  ball  in  the  breast  of 
another,  who  chanced  to  be  standing  directly  in  front  of 
the  muzzle.  This  had  excited  both  consternation  and  rage ; 
and  the  latter  feeling  was  directed  against  us,  for  having, 
as  they  superstitiously  believed,  bewitched  the  weapon  to 
do  them  harm. 

As  I  have  said,  the  interposition  of  the  chief  prevented 
the  immediate  retaliation,  and  gave  the  Hermit  an  oppor- 
tunity to  explain  to  them  that  they,  rather  than  we,  were 
in  fault. 

The  result  was,  after  a  long  discussion — during  which  the 
Hermit  in  some  degree  succeeded  in  his  efforts  to  pacify 
them — that  they  agreed  to  relinquish  present  vengeance. 


94  CLARA   MORELAND. 

_ p 

But  the  treaty  concerning  ransom  was  abruptly  broken  off 
— the  chief  declaring  that  we  should  be  held  as  prisoners, 
to  be  finally  disposed  of  according  to  future  circumstances. 
This  being  settled,  we  were  immediately  joined  by  our 
guard — four  stout,  grim-looking  fellows — while  the  others, 
remounting  by  the  chief's  orders,  dashed  swiftly  away, 
taking  the  Hermit  with  them,  to  whom  they  assigned  the 
horse  of  the  disabled  warrior. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A   LONG   JOURNEY. 


On  the  departure  of  the  main  body  of  the  savages,  two 
of  oul*  guard  kept  their  station  by  us,  while  the  other  two 
proceeded  to  remove  the  wounded  Indian  into  the  hut. 

They  were  absent  nearly  half  an  hour;  and  on  rejoining 
us,  I  perceived  a  fresh  scalp  dangling  at  the  girdle  of  one 
who  appeared  to  be  the  leader  of  the  four.  He  slightly 
touched  it,  in  a  significant  way,  as  he  came  up ;  and  then 
each  uttered  a  long,  low,  mournful  wail. 

I  concluded  from  this  that  their  companion  had  died  of 
his  wounds,  and  that  he  had  been  scalped  by  his  friends, 
to  prevent  such  a  barbarous  trophy  falling  into  the  hands 
of  an  enemy. 

It  is  strange  what  importance  the  red  men  of  the  forest 
attach  to  the  small  bit  of  skin  growing  upon  the  top  of  the 
head  !  But  such  is  the  disgrace  attending  the  loss  of  this, 
among  some  of  the  tribes,  that  a  warrior  would  much 
sooner  part  with  his  life  ;  and  instances  are  on  record,  of 
many  a  daring  brave  having  rushed  into  the  very  jaws  of 
death,  to  prevent  the  scalp-lock  of  a  deceased  friend  be- 
coming the  property  of  his  foe. 

The  returned  savages  having  remounted  their  horses, 
they  arranged  themselves,  two  on  either  side  of  us ;  and  the 
signal  being  given  to  start,  away  we  dashed,  in  a  northerly 
direction. 

We  crossed  the  creek,  which  our  animals  were  made  to 
leap,  and  away  we  sped  over  the  plain.     It  was  a  glorious 

(95) 


96  CLARA   MORELAND. 


Bcene,  as,  all  traces  of  the  storm  Laving  disappeared,  the 
round,  full  moon  poured  her  silvery  flood  through  the  blue 
arch  of  heaven  down  upon  the  teeming  earth. 

A  ride  of  some  thftee  hours  brought  us  to  a  small  wood- 
land, which,  unlike  most  we  had  seen  through  the  day,  had 
a  thick,  almost  impenetrable  undergrowth ;  and  as  my  beast 
and  Clara's  had  showed  signs  of  unusual  fatigue  during 
the  last  few  miles,  the  Indians  concluded  on  making  a  halt 
here. ' 

Accordingly  we  all  dismounted,  and  Clara  and  I  we^e 
bound  to  a  couple  of  saplings,  to  make  sure  against  our 
escape.  The  Indians  then  proceeded  to  start  a  fire  on  the 
edge  of  the  thicket,  so  that  its  light  would  be  thrown  far 
out  upon  the  prairie,  where  the  horses  were  allowed  to 
graze,  after  first  being  hoppled  to  prevent  their  running 
away.  They  then  produced  some  dried  meat,  and  a  kind 
of  hard  cake,  made  from  Indian  corn,  something  like  a 
tortilla,  with  which  they  appeased  their  hunger,  slaking 
their  thirst  with  water  from  a  near  spring,  which  one  of 
the  party  brought  in  a  small  gourd  that  they  carried 
with  them. 

When  their  own  meal  was  finished,  one  of  them  came  to 
us,  and  made  signs  to  know  if  we  were  hungry.  My  appe- 
tite had  become  rather  keen  from  my  day's  ride,  and  I 
gave  an  aflBrmative  nod,  my  head  being  the  only  part  of 
me  now  at  liberty. 

"And  you  must  eat  also,*'  I  said  to  Clara,  as  the  In- 
dian returned  to  his  companions  to  get  us  food ;  "for  there 
is  no  knowing  when  the  next  meal  will  be  made  ;  and  na- 
ture must  have  sustenance,  or  you  will  droop  by  the  way." 

"  For  this  reason,"  replied  Clara,  "  I  will  endeavor  to 
eat — though  I  have  no  appetite." 

On  rejoining  us,  the  Indian  unbound  our  hands,  and  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Clara  devour  more  of  the 


A  LONG  JOURNEY.  97 

1  — — , 

coarse  food  than  I  had  expected ;  while  on  my  part,  I  made 
quite  a  hearty  meal— not  so  much  because  I  relished  the 
fare,  as  because  I  thought  it  necessary  to  keep  up  my 
strength  for  the  trial  before  me.  AVatf  r  was  then  given  us 
from  the  gourd ;  after  which  such  alterations  were  made  in 
our  fastenings,  as  would  enable  us  to  lie  down  upon  the 
damp  earth. 

I  confess  that  my  bed  was  none  of  the  best ;  nor  was  my 
situation,  all  things  considered,  a  very  agreeable  one ;  but 
no^ithstanding  all  this,  I  gradually  fell  asleep — and  this 
the  more  readily,  that  one  of  the  savages  had  intimated  by 
signs  to  Clara  and  myself  that  we  must  hold  no  conversa- 
tion with  each  other. 

The  last  recollections  I  have  of  that  night,  are  of  seeing 
three  of  our  guard  stretched  out  on  the  earth,  within  the 
firelight,  and  the  fourth  keeping  watch,  leaning  against  a 
tree ;  and  of  wondering  to  myself  if  poor  Clara  slept,  and 
what  kind  of  a  fate  the  great  future  had  in  store  for  us. 
With  this  I  gradually  closed  my  eyes;  and  with  these 
thoughts,  as  it  were  flickering  about  my  brain,  I  gradually 
went  off  into  the  land  of  dreams,  and  thence  passed  into 
the  unconscious  state  of  a  deep,  heavy  sleep. 

I  slept  for  several  hours ;  and  was  finally  awakened  by 
one  of  my  captors,  who  signified  that  it  was  time  to  resume 
our  journey.  The  moon  I  now  perceived  was  far  in  the 
west,  and  already  the  gray  light  of  breaking  morn  was 
mingling  with  her  silver  rays. 

Clara  was  already  up,  and  standing  near,  her  soft,  blue 
eyes  fixed  upon  me  with  an  expression  of  mournful  resig- 
nation that  went  to  my  very  heart.  Her  features  were  very 
pale,  and  I  thought  I  could  detect  traces  of  recent  tears. 

"Have  you  slept  any,  Clara?"  I  inquired,  in  a  tone 
which,  in  spite  of  myself,  was  tremulous  with  deep  feeling. 

"But  little,"  she  answered ;  and  was  about  to  ad4 
"  9 


98  CLARA    MORELAND. 


something  more,  "when  one  of  our  guard  stepping  w 
between  us,  and  taking  hold  of  her  arm,  silently  pointed 
to  her  horse,  which,  together  with  mine,  stood  bridled  and 
saddled  close  by.    v 

In  a  few  minutes  we  were  all  under  way — the  Indians 
riding  their  horses  bare-back,  and  managing  them,  with 
halters  made  of  thongs. 

For  hours  we  dashed  away  to  the  northward,  keeping 
clear  of  any  thing  like  a  settlement,  or  even  the  habita- 
tion of  civilized  man.  This  somewhat  surprised  me ;  for 
I  knew  there  must  be  several  towns  and  forts  above* us, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  log-cabins  of  white  settlers  scattered 
in  every  direction  ;  but  our  captors  appeared  to  be  per- 
fectly familiar  with  their  route — which  led  me  to  the  con- 
clusion that  they  knew  a  way  of  penetrating  low  into  the 
country,  perhaps  to  the  very  Gulf,  without  necessarily 
coming  in  contact  with  their  white  foes — and  that  this  was 
neither  the  first  nor  second  time  the  present  party  had 
been  over  the  ground. 

For  hours,  I  say,  we  dashed  away  in  a  northerly  direc- 
tion ;  and  during  this  time  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken ; 
and  then  only  by  the  leader,  who  once  or  twice  addressed 
his  companions,  probably  to  communicate  something  con- 
cerning the  journey. 

The  sun  meantime  had  risen  bright  and  glorious,  and 
was  now  half  way  to  the  zenith.  My  impression  concern- 
ing our  captors,  now  that  I  beheld  them  by  the  clear  light 
of  day,  was  in  no  degree  more  favorable  than  when  I  had 
first  seen  them  by  the  rays  of  the  moon  the  night  pre- 
vious. They  were  fierce,  blood-thirsty  looking  savages ; 
and  as  I  gazed  upon  their  half-naked,  painted,  hideous  per- 
sons, I  began  to  wonder  why  we  had  been  treated  with  so 
much  lenity — or  why,  in  fact,  we  had  not  been  murdered 
and  scalped  at  once.     But  perhaps,  I  thought  to  myself — 


A  LOXG  JOURNEY.  99 

and  the  very  idea  made  my  blood  run  cold — we  are  thus 
carefully  protected  and  reserved  for  more  inhuman  treat- 
ment— that  of  dying  at  the  stake  by  slow  toitures. 

During  the  morning's  ride,  no  opportunity  was  allowed 
me  of  speaking  a  word  to  my  fair  companion.  With  an 
Indian  on  either  side  of  me,  I  rode  in  advance  of  Clara, 
who  was  guarded  in  the  same  way.  By  turning  my  head, 
I  could  occasionally  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  sweet  features. 
Iler  face  was  deadly  pale,  but  still  exhibited  an  expression 
of  ^mournful  resignation.  Poor  girl!  how  I  pitied  her! 
and  how  gladly  would  I  have  laid  down  my  life  to  place 
her  once  more  in  safety  within  her  father's  mansion ! 

The  prairie,  which  thus  fiir  had  been  nearly  as  level  a£\ 
a  floor,  now  began  to  exhibit  a  rolling,  wave-like  surface, 
and  the  vegetation  to  be  less  beautiful  and  luxuriant. 
The  grass  gr.ew  taller,  and  the  blades  became  more  sparse, 
coarse,  and  wiry ;  while  the  flowers  became  less  and  less 
frequent,  and  exhibited  far  less  variety  of  color. 

At  length  we  reached  the  timber-lands  of  some  river, 
the  name  of  which  is  unknown  to  me,  and  plunged  into  a 
deep  wood,  through  which  we  rode  to  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  where  our  captors  made  a  halt.  Here  we  all  dis- 
mounted, and  our  horses  were  again  allowed  to  graze  upon 
a  sward  that  was  green  and  rich,  though  shadowed  with 
trees. 

The  Indians  now  broke  their  own  fast,  and  on  the  same 
kind  of  food  they  had  eaten  the  night  before  ;  and  after 
they  had  done,  a  portion  was  offered  us,  which  we  were 
not  loth  to  accept — for  our  long,  weary  ride  now  rendered 
even  this  ^oarse  fare  quite  palatable. 

We  remained  in  this  place  some  two  or  three  hours,  and 
theji  resumed  our  journey — fording  the  stream,  and  con- 
tinflmg  on  northward,  over  a  hilly,  wooded  country,  till 
the  sun  went  down — when  our  captors,  finding  our  beasts 


100  CLARA   MOREL  AND. 

•were  the  worse  for  the  day's  travel,  camped  for  the  night, 
greatly  to  our  relief  and  satisfaction,  for  poor  Clara  was 
so  fatigued  as  scarcely  to  be  able  to  sit  her  horse. 

But  I  will  not  trouble  the  reader  with  a  detail  of  our 
progress  on  our  long  and  toilsome  journey.  One  day 
went  much  as  another,  without  the  occurrence  of  any 
striking  incidents  to  vary  the  tiresome  monotony.  We 
were  nightly  secured  against  even  an  attempt  at  escape, 
by  being  bound,  and  carefully  watched  by  some  one  of  the 
four ;  and  at  the  break  of  day  each  morning  we  were 
obhged  to  mount  our  horses  and  ride  whithersoever  our 
captors  willed. 

During  all  this  time,  Clara  and  I  seldom  exchanged 
any  thing  more  than  looks — for  the  Indians  liked  not  that 
we  should  converse  with  each  other — and  in  fact  they 
spoke  but  little  among  themselves. 

A  week's  journey  took  us  far  to  the  northward;  and 
already  we  could  feel  a  great  change  in  the  temperature — 
the  air  being  much  cooler  and  more  bracing  through  the 
day,  and  the  nights  often  so  cold  as  to  render  a  fire  indis- 
pensable to  comfort.  Here,  too,  we  could  perceive  the 
marks  of  frost,  in  the  variegated  hue  of  the  woodlands ; 
and  more  than  once  I  felt  chilled  to  the  very  bone,  by  cold 
blasts  that  came  sweeping  down  from  the  far  distant  moun- 
tains, on  whose  summits  ice  and  snow  hold  an  eternal 
reign. 

At  length  we  crossed  a  large  stream — which,  from  its 
peculiar  appearance,  I  am  led  to  think  was  the  Red 
River;  and  two  days  after  this  we  ascended  a  steep  hill, 
and  looked  down  into  a  deep  valley,  where,  along  the 
bank  of  a  small  stream  that  flowed  through  it,  we  beheld 
some  fifty  Indian  huts,  being  the  first  habitations  o^any 
kind  we  had  seen  since  our  capture.  ^ 

The  moment  the  Indians  got  a  full  view  of  their  village 


A  LONG  JOURNEY.  101 

— for  such  it  really  was — they  uttered  loud  yells  of 
delight;  and  three  of  them  darted  away,  running  their 
horses  as  if  on  a  race,  leaving  the  fourth  to  follow  more 
leisurely  with  ourselves.  I  took  advantage  of  this  depar- 
ture of  the  majority  of  our  guard,  to  ride  up  to  the  side 
of  Clara ;  and  as  the  only  remaining  Indian  seemed  more 
interested  in  watching  his  companions  than  us,  we  im- 
proved the  opportunity  by  exchanging  a  few  words  in  a 
low  tone. 

"  At  last,  dear  Clara,"  I  said,  "  I  think  we  have  reached 
our  present  destination." 

*'  Heaven  send  it  be  so  !"  she  replied,  with  a  sigh — "  for 
I  am  nearly  worn  out." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  it,  Clara — but  rather,  that  you 
have  borne  up  so  well,  against  so  much  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment, and  you  so  delicately  framed.  I  can  see  but  little 
change  in  your  appearance,  save  that  exposure  has  dark- 
ened your  complexion,  and  that  you  have  the  forlorn  look 
of  one  who  labors  under  grief  without  hope." 

"  I  have  no  hope  now,"  she  replied,  mournfully,  "  save 
in  the  grave." 

"  Nay,  say  not  so ;  while  there  is  life,  there  always 
should  be  hope ;  and  the  same  Providence  that  has  seen 
fit  to  place  us  in  our  present  condition,  may  yet  enable  us 
to  escape,  and  restore  us  to  our  friends." 

"  I  would  I  could  think  such  an  event  might  ever  be ; 
but  no,  no — alas !  no — I  am  doomed  !"  she  mournfully 
rejoined.  "But  now  that  we  are  here,"  she  pursued, 
"  what  think  you  will  be  done  with  us  ?" 

"  It  is  possible  we  may  be  well  treated  and  put  to  ran- 
som," I  replied,  with  a  view  to  excite  some  hope  in  her 
breast,  that  she  might  not  altogether  give  way  to  melan- 
choly. "  You  see  we  have  not  as  yet  received  any 
rougher  treatment  than   our  captors  may  have  thought 

9* 


102  CLARA  MORELAND. 

necessary  to  secure  us  against  escape  ;  and  when  the  chief 
returns,  with  the  Hermit  to  act  as  interpreter,  I  trust  I 
can  make  it  seem  more  to  his  interest  and  advantage  to 
let  us  go,  than  to  keep  us  prisoners,  or  put  us  to  death." 

"  You  say  this  to  me — but  do  you  truly  believe  your- 
self what  you  say  ?"  cried  Clara,  quickly,  turning  full 
upon  me. 

"I  believe  we  shall  ultimately  escape,"  I  answered, 
somewhat  evasively. 

"  God  grant  we  may !"  rejoined  Clara,  earnestly. 
"  Oh  !  my  mother  !  my  poor  dear  mother  !  could  you  see 
your  child  now,  how  it  would  wring  your  heart !  And 
yet,"  she  quickly  added,  "I  know  not  that  it  would  add  to 
her  present  grief — for  even  now  she  is  mourning  me  as 
lost — buried  in  a  dark  uncertainty — and  knows  not 
whether  to  weep  for  my  death,  or  a  living  woe  more 
terrible.  Oh !  what  will  my  friends  think  of  my  absence  ? 
liovv  will  they  bear  this  cruel  stroke  of  fate?  My  dear 
mother,  and  father — my  dear  sister,  and  brother— shall 
these  eyes  ever  behold  you  again  in  life  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  I 
fear  they  have  looked  their  last  upon  your  dear  faces ; 
and  that  if  ever  we  meet  again,  it  will  be  where  none  do 
part.  Oh,  God !  support  me !  let  me  not  murmur !  but 
be  ever  ready  to  say,  ^  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done !'  " 

The  hill  we  were  descending  was  steep,  and  some  parts 
of  it  were  heavily  wooded ;  but  directly  before  us,  down  to 
the  village,  the  trees  had  been  felled  and  burned  on  the 
ground,  as  the  charred  remains  and  blackened  stumps 
every  where  proclaimed.  Beginning  at  the  village,  and 
reaching  half-way  up  the  hill,  was  a  field  of  corn,  wherein 
some  ten  or  a  dozen  squaws  were  at  work,  plucking  the 
ripened  ears.  As  they  heard  the  shouts  of  the  first  party 
descending  the  hill,  they  stopped  their  work,  and,  collect- 
ing together,  waited  till  the  horsemen  had  passed  them. 


A  LONG  JOURNEY.  103 


Probably  some  communication  was  made  to  them  by  the 
riders,  concerning  Clara  and  myself;  for  as  the  mounted 
party  dashed  by  them,  these  squaws  set  up  a  series  of 
screeching  yells,  and  immediately  started  up  the  hill  to 
meet  us. 

They  were  a  coarse,  brutal-looking  set;  and,  if  any 
thing,  more  hideous  and  disgusting  in  their  appearance 
than  the  party  of  warriors  that  had  made  us  captives. 
They  were  nearly  naked — their  only  covering  being  skins 
girded  around  their  loins.  Unlike  their  male  companions, 
their  heads  were  not  shaved;  and  their  long,  straight, 
coarse  black  hair  swept  down  around  their  bodies,  in  some 
instances  nearly  to  the  ground.  They  were  without  paint, 
or  ornament  of  any  kind ;  and  their  filthy,  weather-beaten 
skins — their  flat,  broad,  unintellectual  faces — and  their 
round,  hard,  muscular  limbs,  indicated  that  theirs  had 
been  a  life  of  toil  and  drudgery.  They  were,  as  I  after- 
ward learned,  called  Soolepcooms,  or  Squaw-workers ;  and 
were  regarded  as  immeasurably  inferior  to  the  Lendcooms, 
or  Squaw-wives,  whose  obly  duty  was  to  wait  upon  the 
warriors — for  the  Wepecoolahs,  not  unlike  their  more 
civilized  white  neighbors,  had  established  an  upper  and 
lower  grade  among  both  sexes. 

On  meeting  us,  the  Soolepcooms  renewed  their  dismal 
screeches ;  and  completely  surrounding  us,  they  blocked 
our  way,  stopped  our  horses,  and  began  to  catch  hold  of 
us,  in  a  very  rough  manner,  occasionally  turning  their 
faces  up  towards  us,  and  grinning  savagely,  like  so  many 
she-devils. 

Clara  became  alarmed ;  and  as  one  old  hag,  seizing  her 
by  the  arm,  half  dragged  her  from  her  horse,  at  the  same 
time  flourishing  a  knife  in  a  rather  dangerous  proximity, 
flhe  shrieked  out : 


104  CLARA  MORELAND. 

"  Oh  !  Henry — save  me  !  save  me  !  or  I  shall  be 
murdered  !'* 

Before  I  could  act  in  the  matter,  however,  our  Indian 
guard,  who  had  been  riding  apart — and  who,  on  the 
approach  of  the  women,  had  paid  no  attention  to  them — 
suddenly  rushed  his  horse  up  to  Clara's  side,  and  striking 
the  aggressor  full  in  the  face  with  the  handle  of  his  toma- 
hawk, laid  her  senseless  on  the  ground.  On  seeing  this, 
the  companions  of  the  wounded  hag  drew  back,  with  howls 
of  dismay,  and  we  were  suffered  to  proceed  without  further 
molestation. 

The  Indian  now  kept  his  place  by  the  side  of  Clara,  as 
if  to  protect  her — but  manifested  no  further  interesjb  in 
what  had  happened — not  so  much  as  even  turning  his 
head  to  look  after  the  discomfited  Soolepcooms.  I  had 
more  curiosity;  and  turning  in  my  saddle,  I  beheld  the 
whole  party  grouped  around  the  fallen  one,  some  of  whom 
were  stooping  down  to  raise  her. 

Meantime  the  three  warriors  had  reached  the  village — 
which,  as  we  could  now  perceive,  was  in  a  state  of  some 
excitement — and  our  conductor  signifying  to  us  that  we 
should  quicken  our  pace,  we  did  so,  and  rode  down  the  hill 
at  a  fast  gallop. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  INDIAN   VILLAGE   AND   A   MYSTERIOUS   CHARACTER. 

The  village  of  the  Wepecoolahs  was  very  pleasantly 
situated  on  a  level  strip  of  open  land,  which  at  this  point 
divided  the  base  of  one  hill  from  that  of  the  other  by  a 
distance  of  more  than  a  hundred  yards.  What  appeared 
rather  singular,  was  the  fact,  that  this  level,  open  piece  of 
ground — the  very  bottom  of  the  valley,  and  which  was  a 
hundred  yards  in  breadth  by  some  three  miles  in  length — 
should  be  entirely  free  from  stones,  and  stumps,  and  cov- 
ered with  a  smooth,  thick  green  sward — while  all  around 
it  either  was,  or  had  very  recently  been,  a  howling  wilder- 
ness, untouched  by  a  husbandry  implement.  It  could  not 
be  the  work  of  the  present  tribe,  for  every  thing  else  indi- 
cated that  the  Wepecoolahs  had  been  located  here  but  a 
very  short  time.  No,  it  was  either  one  of  nature's  singular 
freaks,  or  else  this  spot  had  been  cultivated  many,  many 
years  agone,  perhaps  by  a  race  anterior  to  the  red  man  of 
our  day.  And  I  was  further  led  to  this  latter  conclusion, 
from  perceiving,  at  a  subsequent  period,  a  steep  conical 
mound,  in  the  rear  of  the  village — covered,  like  the  flat, 
with  a  thick,  smooth  green  sward — reminding  me  of  the 
K  descriptions  I  had  seen  of  similar  ancient  relics  in  some  of 
L    the  Western  States. 

m  The  huts  of  our  captors  were  constructed  of  sticks,  bark, 
K-  earth,  and  skins;  and  were  arranged  in  a  semi-circular 
W  form — the  central  arc  touching  the  base  of  the  opposite 
H  hill,  (which  rose  steep  and  craggy  a  thousand  feet  above 
I  (105)' 


106  CLARA    MORELAND. 


the  village)  and  the  two  arms  extending  across  the  valley, 
to  the  stream  before  mentioned,  which  ran  purling  along  at 
the  foot  of  the  eminence  we  Avere  descending.  By  this 
geometrical  arrangement,  a  fine  area  was  formed,  which 
was  common  property,  and  upon  which  all  the  huts  fronted. 
Here  fires  were  built,  in  the  open  air,  for  cooking  or  other 
purposes,  the  huts  being  constructed  without  chimneys. 
Here  the  children  played  in  harmony,  and  the  ciders  met 
in  social  intercourse. 

Near  the  centre  of  this  area  was  the  lodge  of  the  chief, 
differing  from  the  others  only  in  size  and  position  ;  and 
just  in  the  rear  of  this  was  a  circular  building,  of  still 
larger  dimensions,  with  a  straight  pole  running  up  through 
the  centre,  not  unlike  a  circus  tent.  This  was  the  Council 
House  of  the  tribe,  where  the  chief  and  warriors  were  wont 
to  meet  to  discuss  and  decide  any  matter  of  general  in- 
terest. 

In  the  appearance  of  the  village,  taken  as  a  whole,  there 
was  a  certain  air  of  savage  refinement,  which  I  had  not 
expected  to  find — and  I  was,  in  consequence,  agreeably 
disappointed. 

As  we  rode  down  the  hill,  the  whole  village  poured  out 
its  inhabitants  upon  the  common — men,  women  and  chil- 
dren— the  pappoose  and  veteran — and,  stimulated  by 
curiosity,  all  crowded  down  to  the  creek  to  get  a  near  view 
of  us.  There  might  have  been,  taken  collectively,  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  souls — mostly  women  and  their  offspring — 
for  the  main  body  of  the  warriors  were  away  on  a  daring 
expedition,  as  the  reader  already  knows. 

At  first,  when  I  saw  them  assembling  in  such  a  formida- 
ble manner,  I  had  some  apprehension  that  We  might  be 
greeted  with  rather  rough  treatment;  but  as  we  crossed 
the  creek,  they  fell  back  respectfully — neither  offering 
violence,  nor  seeking  to  annoy  us. 


A   MYSTERIOUS   CHAPwACTER.  107 

The  women  of  the  village — the  Lendcooms,  or  Squaw- 
wives — were  habited  in  skins;  but,  unlike  the  Squaw- 
workers,  with  some  regard  to  decency — the  parts  exposed 
being  their  arms,  necks,  feet  and  ankles.  Their  dress, 
however,  was  not  calculated  to  display  their  figures  to  any 
artistic  advantage — it  being  merely  a  straight  gown,  of 
prepared  deerskin,  seamed  up  the  sides,  with  shoulder 
straps,  and  covering  the  person  to  the  extent  mentioned. 
All  were  costumed  much  alike — though  some  few,  with 
more  taste  than  the  others,  wore  wampum  belts  around 
their  waists.  Some,  too,  had  coarse  ornaments  in  their 
ears  ;  and  more  than  one  dangled  a  heavy  ring  from  her 
nose ;  but  this,  in  my  opinion,  did  not  improve  their  looks 
in  the  slightest  degree.  Taken  collectively,  they  Avere  not 
decidedly  an  ill-looking  set  of  females ;  and  a  few  of  the 
younger,  were  tolerably  passable ;  though  their  low  fore- 
heads, and  broad,  flat,  animal-faces,  set  a  seal  upon  any 
thing  like  a  near  approach  to  beauty. 

I  must,  however,  make  an  exception  in  favor  of  one — 
though,  from  the  first,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  believe 
that  she  was  a  full  blooded  daughter  of  the  Indian  race. 
This  was  a  girl,  apparently  about  eighteen  years  of  age, 
who,  on  our  approach,  stood  apart  from  the  others,  with 
some  half  a  dozen  warriors  drawn  up  in  a  line  behind  her, 
among  whom  I  instantly  recognized  the  three  of  our  escort 
who  had  ridden  into  the  village  in  advance  of  us.  I  was 
struck  at  the  same  time  with  her  personal  appearance  and 
the  marked  deference  with  which  she  was  treated  by  young 
and  old,  not  one  venturing  to  approach  her  beyond  a 
certain  limit.  As  to  who  she  was,  I  of  course  knew  noth- 
ing— but  that  she  was  a  personage  of  'consequence,  was 
easily  to  be  seen. 

And  what  struck  me  as  the  most  singular  was,  that  so 
much  respect  should  be  shown  to  one  of  her  sex— for,  as  a 


108  CLARA   MORELAND. 

general  thing,  the  savage  esteems  the  female  as  far  inferior 
to  the  male,  and  deems  her  totally  unworthy  to  have  a 
voice  in  the  councils  of  the  nation.  And  besides,  I  had 
seen  the  chief  himself,  and  seen  his  warriors  approach  him 
"with  a  familiarity  that  none  displayed  toward  this 
mysterious  being — so  that,  unless  she  were  greater  in  the 
tribe  than  Kenneloo,  which  it  was  unreasonable  to  suppose, 
I  knew  not  how  to  account  for  this  general  deference. 

I  have  said  that  her  age  was  apparently  about  eighteen, 
and  that  her  appearance  was  so  different  from  the  others, 
as  to  lead  me,  at  a  first  glance,  to  the  conclusion,  that  she 
was  not  of  their  race — or,  at  all  events,  that  her  blood 
was  not  purely  Indian.  She  was  straight,  symmetrical, 
and  tall,  with  a  dark  complexion,  and  black  eyes  and  hair 
— but  here  all  resemblance  between  her  and  others  of  the 
Wepecoolahs  ceased.  Her  face,  instead  of  being  broad, 
flat,  and  round,  was  rather  oval,  with  the  angular  outline 
of  the  American  or  European.  Her  nose,  too,  of  the 
Grecian  cast,  was  prominent,  with  thin,  dilating  nostrils — 
and  her  forehead  was  broad,  high,  and  intellectual.  Her 
mouth,  with  its  thin  lips,  had  a  classic  shape ;  and  her 
chin  was  well  rounded,  giving  her  a  straight  and  beautiful 
profile. 

Nor  wg-s  it  alone  in  the  shape  of  the  features  that  she 
differed  materially  from  all  the  others.  In  her  proud, 
queen-like  deportment,  and  the  lofty,  intelligent  expression 
O/f  her  countenance,  she  rose  in  the  bright  contrast  to  them 
of  day  to  night.  There  was  an  air  of  superiority  and 
command  in  her  every  look  and  gesture ;  and  her  black, 
brilliant,  piercing  eyes  seemed  to  gleam  and  sparkle 
with  the  intellectual  fires  of  no  ordinary  soul.  She  was 
beautiful — that  I  could  not  deny — but  hers  was  a  kind  of 
beauty  not  to  my  taste.  It  lacked  the  softening  traits  so 
touch  admired  in  woman ;  and  displayed  too  much  pride. 


A  MYSTERIOUS   CHARACTER  109 

haughtiness,  fire,  passion,  and  all  the  concomitants  of  a 
self-^Yilled,  unsubdued,  unbending,  masculine  spirit. 

How  she  had  attained  to  her  exalted  position  among  the 
Wepecoolahs,  was  of  course  a  mystery  to  me;  but  once 
obtained,  it  was  not  difficult  to  understand  how  she  had 
retained  it ;  for  it  is  a  law  of  nature  that  matter  can  be 
governed  by  mind — and  the  mere  animal  must  ever  yield 
to  intellectual  dominion. 

The  dress  of  this  singular  being  was  not  unlike  that  of 
the  other  females,  in  its  shape  and  extent — though 
rendered  of  a  more  showy  appearance,  by  being  covered 
with  divers  colored  beads,  worked  into  crude  imitations  of 
beasts,  birds,  and  flowers.  Besides,  as  a  further  distinc- 
tion, she  wore  leggins  and  moccasins  of  scarlet;  and  her 
long  black  hair  was  swept  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
braided  into  cues,  that  dangled  about  her  neck  and 
shoulders,  something  after  the  fashion  of  the  Gipseys, 

As  we  were  escorted  directly  past  her,  single  file,  at 
a  slow  pace,  I  had  an  opportunity  to  observe  the  peculiari- 
ties which  I  have  attempted  to  describe  to  the  reader. 
She  stood  with  folded  arms,  in  an  attitude  of  graceful 
dignity,  calmly,  but  I  fancied  rather  haughtily,  regarding 
us.  Her  black  eyes  at  once  fixed  upon  mine  with  an 
intense,  searching  expression,  as  if  she  would  read  my 
very  thoughts ;  and  then  fell  upon  Clara,  who  rode  next 
in  file.  I  watched  her  closely  all  the  while — for  somehow 
I  felt  that  our  fate,  in  a  great  degree,  rested  with  her — 
and  I  was  anxious  to  glean  from  her  looks  what  that  fate 
would  probably  be.  But  all  was  dark,  cold,  and  reserved, 
as  if  she  had  schooled  her  thoughts  and  feelings  against 
betraying  themselves  by  outward  sign.  Once,  I  fancied, 
while  she  was  looking  at  Clara,  her  black  eyes  shot  a 
fiercer  gleam,  and  that  her  thin  lips  slightly  curled  with 

10 


110  CLARA  MORELAND. 


something  like  disdainful  pride — but  it  might  have  been 
only  fancy. 

We  passed  on,  leaving  her  standing  motionless  as  a 
statue,  gazing  after  us.  Our  Indian  conductor,  who  was 
riding  in  advance,  now  led  us  straight  to  the  Council 
House,  at  the  door  of  which  he  dismounted  and  made  a 
sign  to  us  to  do  likewise.  He  then  pointed  to  the  door, 
and  signified  that  we  must  enter ;  which  we  did  accord- 
ingly, he  remaining  without. 

We  now  found  ourselves  alone  together,  in  a  circular 
building  of  some  fifty  feet  in  diameter,  constructed  of 
sticks,  bark,  and  earth,  the-  roof  of  which  sloped  down 
nearly  to  the  ground,  and  was  from  twelve  to  fifteen  feet 
high  in  the  central  part.  A  few  stakes  had  been  driven 
into  the  earth  at  regular  intervals,  and  around  the  walls 
were  a  number  of  rude  seats.  A  few  loopholes  admitted 
light  enough  for  us  to  see  across  the  building. 

We  cast  a  hurried  glance  about  us,  and  then  gazed  at 
each  other. 

"  Clara !"  said  I,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice. 

"Henry!  dear  Henry!"  she  rejoined;  and  the  next 
moment,  weeping  and  half  fainting,  her  head  reclined 
against  my  breast,  and  my  arms,  encircling  her  slender 
form,  drew  her  more  closely  to  my  heart. 

"Oh!  what  will  become  of  us?"  she  added  at  length, 
looking  up  tearfully  into  my  face — for  in  the  ratio  that 
personal  danger  appeared  to  decrease,  her  timidity  seemed 
to  return. 

"I  apprehend  nothing  m.ore  serious  than  temporary 
imprisonment,"  I  replied,  assuming  a  cheerful  air,  in  order 
to  raise  her  spirits.  "You  see  we  have  not  been  very 
Roughly  treated  as  yet." 

"  What  think  you  of  that  strange  female  we  passed  just 
now  ?"  she  inquired.     "  She  does  not  look  like  an  Indian  ; 


A  MYSTERIOUS   CHARACTER.  Ill 

and  she  is  either  possessed  of  authority,  or  is  a  prisoner 
herself,  closely  guarded,  I  know  not  which.  Such  eyes — 
such  black,  fiery,  piercing  eyes — they  seemed  to  burn  into 
my  very  soul." 

"  I  know  not  what  to  think  of  her,  Clara,"  I  replied ; 
"  but  that  she  is  a  personage  of  authority,  and  no  prisoner, 
is  evident  from  the  manner  in  which  she  is  treated.  Per- 
haps she  is  either  the  daughter  or  wife  of  the  chief." 

"  Hush  !"  interrupted  Clara,  grasping  my  arm ;  and  at 
the  same  moment  the  sutgipct  of  our  conversation  entered 
the  Council  House  with  a  lofty  carriage  and  graceful  step. 

She  advanced  straight  toward  us,  ;till  within  a  couple 
of  paces,  and  then  halting,  drew  herself  up  more  haughtily 
than  ever,  and  keenly  surveyed  us  from  head  to  foot. 
Clara  shrunk  from  her  piercing  gaze — and,  in  spite  of  her 
efforts  to  appear  calm  and  composed,  her  whole  frame 
trembled. 

Perceiving  this,  the  thin  lips  of  the  other  curled  with 
something  like  a  sneer ;  and  then,  to  our  great  surprise, 
these  words,  sharp,  clear,  and  distinct,  rang  forth : 

"  Is  the  daughter  of  the  white  man  an  aspen,  that  she 
quivers  thus  in  the  presence  of  Dundenah,  the  Leaping 
Fawn?" 

*'  Oh !  lady,  whoever  you  are,  thanks  be  to  God  you 
speak  my  native  tongue  !"  cried  Clara,  joyfully.  "  Oh  J 
lady,  tell  us  why  we  are  here  prisoners?" 

"  Call  me  not  lady  /"  returned  the  other,  scornfully. 
"  I  have  a  name !     I  am  Dundenah,  the  Leaping  Fawn  !" 

"That  name  sounds  pleasantly  in  our  ears,"  I  inter- 
posed— "for  the  fawn  is  a  gentle  creature." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  rightly  named,  then,"  she  rejoined, 
turning  almost  fiercely  upon  me.  "  It  is  a  name  the 
great  chief  gave  me  in  infancy." 

"  By  your  language,  you  should  be  of  our  race,"  said  I. 


112  CLARA  MORELAND. 

"Wandewah,  the  Great  Spirit,  hath  given  Dundenah 
many  tongues,"  she  replied,  proudly. 

"  Can  you  tell  us  what  will  be  our  fate  ?" 

"  Ask  yours  of  Kenneloo,  when  he  comes  in  from  the 
"war-path."  Then  turning  to  Clara,  she  touched  her  on 
the  shoulder,  and,  pointing  to  the  door,  continued :'  "  The 
Blue-Eye  must  go  with  Dundenah !" 

"Are  you  going  to  separate  us?"  cried  Clara,  with  a 
look  of  dismay. 

"  The  Blue-Eye  must  go  with  Dundenah !"  repeated  the 
other,  sternly.    ' 

"  Oh !  no  !  no  !"  pleaded  Clara :  "  let  us  remain 
together  in  our  captivity  !" 

Dundenah  looked  from  Clara  to  me,  and  said  quickly : 

"  Is  the  Blue-Eye  already  a  wife  ?" 

Clara  drooped  her  head,  and  a  blush  of  confusion  spread 
over  her  lovely  features. 

"  She  is  not  wedded,"  I  replied.   . 

"  Then  she  must  go  with  Dundenah !"  returned  the 
Leaping  Fawn. 

"  I  trust  Dundenah  will  do  her  no  harm !"  I  hastened  to 
rejoin. 

Again  those  black,  piercing  orbs  became  fixed  upon  me, 
and  fairly  flashed  fire,  as  she  made  answer  : 

"  Dundenah  is  mistress  of  her  own  actions ;  and  when 
she  needs  advice,  she  seeks  it  of  the  mighty  chief  of  the 
Wepecoolahs !" 

"I  meant  no  oiFence,"  I  rejoined,  in  a  humbled  tone, 
anxious  to  appease  her  irritation,  but  more  on  Clara's 
account  than  my  own. 

She  looked  at  me  fixedly  a  moment,  and  then  turning 
toward  the  door,  struck  the  palms  of  her  hands  together 
three  times.  An  Indian  quickly  entered,  to  whom  she 
addressed  a  few  words  in  his  native  dialect.     The  savage 


A   MYSTERIOUS   CHARACTER.  113 

replied  only  with  a  nod— thus  silently  indicating  that  she 
was  understood  and  would  be  obeyed. 

Dundenah  then  touched  Clara  on  the  shoulder  again, 
and  pointed  to  the  door.  Clara  started,  and  seemed  for  a 
moment  or  two  to  stand  irresolute,  while  an  expression  of 
deep,  intense  anguish  passed  over  her  lovely  countenance. 
Then,  with  a  quick,  impulsive  movement,  she  rushed  into 
my  arms,  exclaiming : 

*'  Farewell,  dear  Henry  !  may  God  protect  you  !  This 
may  be  the  last  time  we  shall  behold  each  other  on  earth — 
but  I  trust  we  shall  meet  in  a  better  world.  To  God  I 
commend  you !     Farewell !" 

"Farewell,  dear  Clara!"  I  replied,  in  a  choking  voice 
of  deep  emotion.  "Whatever  may  happen,  rest  assured 
your  dear  image  shall  never  be  effaced  from  my  heart! 
Adieu  !  and  may  all  holy  angels  guard  you !" 

I  drew  her  fondly  to  my  heart,  silently  imprinted  a  kiss 
upon  her  pale  forehead,  and  then  turned  away  to  conceal 
the  tears  that  I  found  myself  unable  to  suppress. 

When,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  I  ventured  to 
look  around,  I  found  myself  alone  with  the  Indian  whom 
Dundenah  had  left  with  me  as  a  guard.  The  savage  was 
seated  near  the  door,  the  only  point  of  entrance  or  exit  to 
the  building,  and,  with  his  black  eyes  fixed  upon  me, 
looked  more  like  a  hideous  figure  in  wax  than  a  human 
being. 

I  knew  by  this,  that  for  the  present  I  was  to  be  guarded 
without  being  bound;  and  I  felt  grateful  to  Dundenah, 
who  had  the  ordering  of  all,  for  even  this  little  act  of  kind- 
ness. I  took  advantage  of  my  liberty,  therefore,  and 
seating  myself  upon  one  of  the  rude  benches,  gave  way  to 
such  reflections  as  my  peculiar  situation  naturally  called 
forth. 

I  thought  of  home,  and  the  friends  of  my  youth,  from 
I  8  10* 


114  CLARA  MORELAND. 


•whom,  not  three  months  since,  I  had  parted  with  feelings 
of  exultation-:— not  because  of  leaving  them — but  because  I 
"was  going  abroad  into  the  great  world,  a  free  man,  to 
follow  the  bent  of  my  own  inclinations ;  and  now  how  I 
envied  them !  and  what  would  I  not  have  given  to  have 
been  once  more  among  them !  I  pictured  to  myself  the 
grief  of  my  father,  and  sisters,  and  Old  Moll,  when  the 
news  should  reach  them  that  I  was  lost,  with  an  awful 
uncertainty  hanging  over  my  fate ;  and  in  imagination  I 
saw  poor  Tom,  even  now,  breaking  his  faithful  heart  at 
my  long  absence. 

Then  I  went  over  my  adventures  with  Harley  and  Viola, 
and  tried  to  calculate  the  chances  of  my  ever  seeing  them 
again.  Fortunate  Harley !  so  happy  in  inventions,  in 
cases  of  emergency !  were  he  only  with  me  now,  I  some- 
how felt  that  I  could  presume  upon  ultimately  escaping 
from  captivity  through  his  resources  and  good  fortune. 

Again  I  was  at  the  mansion  of  Colonel  Moreland,  and 
fancied  I  could  see  the  gloom  and  distress  of  the  family  at 
the  unaccountable  absence  of  Clara — while  I,  though  inno- 
cent, was  even  now,  perhaps,  being  denounced  as  a  heart- 
less miscreant,  who  had  led  her  astray  from  the  paths  of 
rectitude  and  honor ;  and  this  reflection  caused  me  many 
a  keen  pang,  valuing  as  I  did  my  reputation  more  than 
my  life.  That  my  rival  would  every  where  proclaim  me  as 
a  base,  unprincipled,  and  perhaps  cowardly  villain,  I  felt 
to  be  certain ;  and  I  fairly  groaned  at  the  thought  that  I 
could  not  soon  be  there  to  clear  myself  of  the  calumnious 
charges. 

Then  my  thoughts  reverted  to  Clara.  Poor  girl!  whafc 
would  be  her  fate  ?  Perhaps  doomed  to  a  miserable  life 
of  captivity,  toil  and  drudgery — wedded,  it  might  be,  after 
the  Indian  custom,  to  one  of  her  brutal  captors.  But  no  ! 
no !  this  idea  was  too  horrible — I  could  not  bear  to  dwell 


A  MYSTERIOUS   CHARACTER.  115 

upon  it — death  in  any  shape  were  a  thousand  times 
preferable  to  such  a  doom.  I  felt  Clara  would  think  so 
also;  and,  should  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  would, 
rather  end  her  life  in  self-defence — go  unpolluted  into  the 
presence  of  her  Maker^ — than  suffer  so  demoralizing  a 
degradation ! 

Dear  Clara !  how  her  sweet,  sad  image  dwelt  in  my 
raind  !  and  how  her  last  words  still  rung  in  my  ear,  mourn- 
fully, like  a  knell  for  one  departed !  Had  we  indeed  said 
the  last  farewells?  should  we  meet  no  more  on  earth? 
God  forefend !  for  then,  even  with  life  and  liberty,  I  felt 
I  must  be  ever  miserable. 

But  who  was  she  that  had  separated  us  ?  that  strange, 
mysterious,  beautiful  being,  who  spoke  our  tongue  with 
such  fluent  ease  and  lofty  diction?  If  a  native  of  the 
tribe,  how  had  she  acquired  such  a  command  of  our 
language  ?  and  if  of  another  race,  how  had  she  attained  to 
such  power  over  the  barbarous  Wepecoolahs  ? 

Strange  being !  would  she  have  a  voice  in  the  council 
which  must  decide  our  fate  ?  and  if  so,  would  she  lean  to 
the  side  of  mercy,  or  give  her  influence  for  the  heaviest 
doom  ?  Wonderful  being !  I  had  not  been  able  to  read 
her;  and  knew  not  if  her  heart  were  of  adamant,  or 
susceptible  of  the  tender  touches  of  pity. 

While  occupied  with  these  reflections  and  speculations,  a 
hand  lightly  touched  my  shoulder.  I  looked  up,  and 
Dundenah  again  stood  before  me. 


CHAPTER  X. 


TRYING  EVENTS. 


For  a  few  moments  the  black,  piercing  eyes  of  the 
Leaping  Fawn  remained  fixed  upon  mine,  with  a  penetra- 
ting intensity :  then  her  thin  lips  parted,  and  she  inquired: 

"Is  the  home  of  the  Dark-Eye  far  away?" 

"Far,  very  far,  toward  the  rising  sun,"  I  replied. 

"Within  the  dominions  of  him  they  call  the  Great 
White  Father  of  the  States?" 

"It  is." 

"  Lives  the  Blue-Eye  near  the  home  of  the  Dark-Eye  ?" 

"  Scarcely  nearer  than  the  Leaping  Fawn." 

"  How  comes  it  then  that  both  are  here,  the  captives  of 
the  Wepecoolahs  ?" 

I  narrated  to  her  how  we  were  riding  out  to  visit  a  sick 
friend,  and  how  we  lost  our  way  and  were  taken  prisoners 
at  the  hut  of  the  Hermit. 

"That  was  Langee,"  she  rejoined:  "I  learned  so  much 
from  those  that  brought  you  here." 

"  You  know  him  then  ?" 

•"  Yes ;  it  was  he,  and  one  other,  that  taught  Dundenah 
to  speak  the  language  of  the  Dark-Eye." 

"And  pray  who  is  that  mysterious  being?"  I  inquired. 

"  We  know  him  only  as  Langee,  which  in  your  language 
signifies  the  Learned,  or  Man  of  Knowledge.  He  first 
came  among  the  Wepecoolahs  when  Dundenah  was  very 
young.  He  professed  to  worship  Wandewah,  the  Great 
Spirit — but  his  actions  were  not  in  accordance  with  the 
(116) 


TRYING    EVENTS.  117 


principles  he  proclaimed.  After  living  -with  the  Wepe- 
coolahs  for  years,  he  went  to  a  neighboring  tribe,  where, 
for  some  immoral  conduct,  he  was  seized,  tried,  and 
condemned  to  death.  He  escaped  by  stratagem,  and  fled ; 
but  his  retreat  has  been  discovered,  and  he  is  now  a 
prisoner." 

"  And  is  he  to  be  punished  by  the  "Wepecoolahs  for  an 
offence  against  another  nation?"  I  inquired. 

"Dundenah  can  answer  after  his  trial,"  she  replied. 
And  then  fixing  her  black  eyes  steadily  upon  my  counte- 
nance, she  continued :  "  Does  the  Dark-Eye  prize 
liberty?" 

"  What  so  dear  as  liberty,  Dundenah  ?"  I  said :  "  what 
is  life  without  it?" 

"  Would  the  Dark-Eye  go,  and  leave  the  Blue-Eye  in 
bondage  ?" 

*'No,  Dundenah — no!"  I  replied,  quickly. 

**Then  the  Blue-Eye  is  dearer  to  the  Dark-Eye  than 
liberty  ?"  was  the  quick  rejoinder. 

"  I  confess  it  is  even  so,  Dundenah.  But  tell  me  of  the 
Biue-Eye — is  she  safe  and  well  ?" 

"And  if  not?" 

"  If  not  ?"  cried  I,  forgetting  where  I  was,  and  spring- 
ing to  my  feet  with  an  energy  that  caused  my  companion 
to  take  two  or  three  steps  backward. 

"Well,  and  if  not?"  she  repeated,  drawing  herself  up 
proudly,  and  motioning  the  Indian  near  the  door  to 
approach. 

•"I  shall  grieve  in  silence,"  I  replied,  softening  my 
tone.  "  Pardon  my  excitement !  I  had  forgotten  I  was 
a  prisoner,  unable  to  redress  the  wrongs  and  insults  t)iat 
might  be  heaped  upon  me,  or  my  companion  in  captivity," 
I  added,  in  a  tone  of  some  bitterness. 

Dundenah  looked  at  me  sternly  for  a  few  moments ;  and 


118  CLARA    MORELAND. 

then  turning  abruptly  away,  went  out.  My  savage  guard 
glared  upon  me  for  a  while  after  she  had  gone,  and  then 
resumed  his  place  by  the  door.  I  was  thus  again  left  to 
myself,  and  to  my  own  not  very  pleasant  reflections. 

I  saw  no  more  of  Dundenah  that  day ;  and  this  gave , 
me  no  little  uneasiness ;  for  if  I  had  offended  her,  it  would 
doubtless  be  the  worse  for  myself  and  Clara ;   and  that  1 
had  offended  her,  I  thought  more  than  probable  from  her 
manner  of  leaving  me. 

Left  to  myself  in  solitude,  a  closely  guarded  prisoner, 
among  savages,  with  a  terrible  uncertainty  hanging  over 
my  fate  and  Clara's,  the  day,  as  may  naturally  be  sup- 
posed, dragged  wearily  to  a  close.  At  sunset  my  guard 
was  changed,  some  food  and  water  were  given  me,  and 
then  my  limbs  were  tightly  bound,  and  in  this  condi- 
tion I  was  left  to  pass  the  night. 

And  a  horrible  night  it  was  to  me;  for  I  could  not 
sleep ;  and  thought  was  busy  conjuring  up  a  thousand 
frightful  fancies.  At  break  of  day,  however,  greatly  to  my 
relief,  I  was  freed  from  my  cords ;  when,  throwing  myself 
upon  the  ground,  I  managed,  in  spite  of  circumstances,  to 
lose  myself  for  a  couple  of  hours. 

Somewhere  about  midday,  Dundenah  again  made  her 
appearance;  but  to  my  eager  questions  concerning  Clara, 
she  returned  me  no  answer.  In  fact,  she  seemed  resolved 
to  hold  no  further  conversation  with  me ;  for  after  walking 
up  and  down  the  Council  House  a  few  times — occasionally 
stopping  in  front  of  me,  in  a  proud  attitude,  and  fixing 
her  black  eyes  upon  me,  with  a  cold,  penetrating  expres- 
sion— she  waved  her  hand  loftily,  and  went  out.  She  did 
not  return  again  that  day,  which  went  much  as  the  one 
preceding ;  and  at  night  I  was  secured  as  before,  though  I 
managed  to  get  some  sleep. 

In  short,  a  week  passed  away  in  this  dull,  monotonous 


TRYING   EVENTS.  119 


manner;  and  at  last  I  grew  so  wearied  "with  my  confine- 
ment and  suspense,  that  I  fancied  I  could  welcome  any 
change,  even  though  it  were  to  pass  from  imprisonment  to 
death.  During  this  time  Dundenah  visited  me  daily ;  but 
her  lips  were  sealed ;  she  would  utter  no  word ;  and  I 
could  learn  nothing  as  to  the  fate  of  Clara, 

On  the  eighth  day  of  my  imprisonment,  Dundenah  came 
to  visit  me  earlier  than  usual.  She  entered  with  a  quick 
step ;  and  as  she  advanced  straight  to  where  I  was  seated, 
I  saw  by  her  manner,  and  the  expression  of  her  features, 
that  she  had  something  of  importance  to  communicate. 

"  Kenneloo,  the  great  chief  of  the  Wepecoolahs,  has 
returned  from  the  war-path,"  she  said,  in  a  quick,  excited 
tone.  "  He  has  not  met  with  the  success  he  expected, 
and  has  to  mourn  the  loss  of  many  a  gallant  brave.  As  a 
consequence,  he  brings  a  clouded  brow  and  an  angry 
heart.  Let  the  Dark-Eye  beware  of  his  words,  when  he 
speaks  to  the  great  chief  through  the  lips  of  Langee  !  Let 
him  say  nothing  to  stir  the  heart  of  Kenneloo  to  re- 
venge, or  the  life  of  the  Dark-Eye  will  not  last  him  to  look 
upon  the  sun  of  Wandewah.  So  speaks  Dundenah,  who 
would  not  see  the  earth  drink  the  blood  of  the  Dark-Eye." 

"But  the  Blue-Eye,  Dundenah — what  of  her?" 

At  this  moment  a  long,  loud,  mournful  wail,  of  many 
voices,  came  borne  to  our  ears. 

"Hark  !"  cried  Dundenah:  "  'tis  the  death  howl  of  the 
Wepecoolahs :  already  they  mourn  their  dead.  Let  the 
Dark-Eye  remember  the  caution  of  Dundenah!" 

Saying  this,  she  turned,  darted  away,  and  disappeared 
from  my  view  through  the  doorway  of  the  Council  House. 

Scarcely  had  she  gone,  when  I  heard  various  cries, 
whoops,  yells,  and  the  trampling  of  a  large  body  of  horse. 
My  guard  still  maintained  his  position  by  the  door — but 
his  whole  attention  was  now  fixed  on  what  was  taking 


120  CLARA  MORELAND. 

place  without.  A  few  minutes  after,  he  stepped  aside,  with 
an  air  of  respect ;  and  Kenneloo,  accompanied  by  Langee, 
or  the  Hermit,  entered  the  Council  House. 

There  was  a  dark  frown  on  the  brow  of  the  chief,  a 
compression  of  the  lips,  and  a  fierceness  in  the  glance  of 
his  black  eyes,  as  he  advanced  directly  toward  me,  that  I 
fancied  boded  me  no  good.  He  came  close  up  to  me, 
glared  upon  me  savagely  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
grasped  my  arm  so  roughly,  that  I  could  scarcely  avoid 
uttering  a  cry  of  pain.  I  felt  my  blood  boil  at  this  indig- 
nity; and  but  for  the  warning  words  of  Dundenah,  I 
believe  I  should  have  resented  it  by  a  blow,  chief  though 
he  was.  But  by  a  great  effort  I  controlled  my  feelings, 
and  returned  his  rude  gaze  calmly  and  unflinchingly.     ' 

He  was  a  powerful  personage,  physically  considered, 
being  over  six  feet  in  stature,  and  finely  proportioned, 
with  strength  and  grace  in  every  limb.  His  features, 
now  that  I  had  a  fair  view  of  them,  I  could  not  call  ugly 
in  themselves,  though  horribly  disfigured  by  paint,  and  by 
two  long,  deep  scars,  one  of  which  ran  obliquely  across  the 
nose,  and  led  me  to  infer  that  that  member  had  been 
severed  by  the  sharp  cut  of  a  sword,  or  tomahawk,  during 
some  conflict.  His  eyes  were  black,  and  now  seemed  to 
gleam  with  meditated  vengeance  ;  but  still  I  could  see  in 
them  a  look  of  intelligence  far  superior  to  most  of  his 
tribe.  The  forehead,  too,  was  high  and  broad ;  but  I  did 
not  altogether  admire  the  phrenological  development  of 
the  shaved  head — from  the  crown  of  which  dangled  the 
Bcalp-lock,  with  the  feathers,  intended  to  adorn  it,  now 
soiled  with  dust  and  mud,  and  otherwise  in  disarray.  His 
loins  were  covered  with  a  panther  skin,  belted  around  his 
waist ;  and  this,  with  moccasins,  comprised  his  whole  cos- 
tume. In  his  belt  were  stuck  his  tomahawk  and  scalping- 
knif^ — and  these  were  all  the  weapons  he  had  about  him. 


J 


TRYING  EVENTS.  121 


With  the  exception  of  the  feathers  attached  to  his  scalp- 
lock,  and  a  couple  of  coarse,  heavy  rings,  dangling  from 
his  ears,  he  was  devoid  of  any  attempt  at  ornament — and 
there  was  nothing  hy  which  to  distinguish  him  from  his  fol- 
lowers as  the  chief  of  his  tribe. 

After  grasping  my  arm  in  the  manner  related,  and 
impudently  thrusting  his  face  so  close  to  mine  that  I  was 
obliged  to  inhale  his  breath,  while  his  black,  snakey  eyes 
fairly  gleamed  with  what  seemed  a  fiendish  thirst  for 
vengeance — -and  finding  I  made  no  attempt  at  resistance 
or  resentment,  and  neither  uttered  a  cry  of  pain,  nor 
showed  signs  of  surprise  or  fear — he  threw  me  from  him 
with  such  force,  that,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  fell  heavily  to 
the  ground.  Then  turning  to  the  Hermit — who  was 
watching  me,  with  what  I  fancied  to  be  a  look  of  commis- 
eration— he  made  an  exclamation  in  the  Indian  tongue,  to 
which  the  other  nodded  in  reply. 

The  chief  therf  spoke  a  few  words  to  Langee,  in  a  rapid 
tone ;  and  as  I  rose  to  my  feet,  the  latter  advanced  to  me 
and  said : 

"  Young  man,  your  presence  of  mind,  and  the  restraint 
put  upon  your  passions,  under  the  insult  offered  you,  has 
prolonged  your  life,  perhaps  saved  it.  When  Kenneloo 
entered  here,  I  trembled  for  your  safety;  for  had  you 
offered  the  least  resistance,  or  exhibited  the  least  sign  of 
fear,  he  would  have  brained  you  on  the  spot.  He  now 
deems  you  a  fit  subject  for  the  torture,  to  which  he  intends 
to  devote  you,  as  an  offering  to  Kailwanondah,  the  Evil 
Spirit,  to  appease  his  wrath  for  the  signal  failure  of  his 
expedition  against  your  countrymen." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  Kenneloo  for  his  good  opinion 
and  kind  intentions,"  I  replied,  with  sarcastic  bitterness ; 
"  but  though  I  am  duly  sensible  of  the  honor  he  would 
thus  confer  upon  me,  yet  I  would  rather  decline  it;  and, 

11 


122  CLARA  MORELAKD. 

if  I  must  die,  would  preffer  to  be  killed  outright,  where  I 
stand,  even  though  my  courage  should  suffer  in  savage 
estimation.  Had  I  known  for  what  purpose  he  was  test- 
ing my  presence  of  mind  and  forbearance,  rest  assured  the 
insult  had  not  been  tamely  borne — of  which  he  may  even 
yet  convince  himself  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  But  I 
had  been  warned  to  be  guarded  against  giving  offence — 
though  not  till  your  explanation  was  I  aware  for  what 
diabolical  purpose." 

"  You  allude  to  Dundenah  ?"  said  Langee. 

"I  do." 

"  Wrong  her  not  with  that  suspicion  then :  the  Leaping 
Fawn  would  save  you." 

"  Ha  !  say  you  so  ?     But  how  do  you  know  this  ? 

"  I  had  it  from  her  own  lips." 

"  You  have  seen  her  then  ?" 

"  I  have.  She  spoke  with  me  as  I  was  about  to  enter 
herewith  the  chief;  and  her  last  words  were :  *  Save  the 
Dark-eyed  prisoner.' " 

"  Who  is  she,  pray  tell  me  ?" 

"  The  daughter  of  Kenneloo." 

"  Indeed !  but  her  features  are  not  like  the  others  of 
--•^^Hribe." 

"  Her  mother  was  of  another  race.  But  I  will  tell  you 
more  at  some  future  time,  should  opportunity  permit.  At 
present  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  inform  you,  that  Kenneloo 
will  reserve  you  for  the  stake,  and  he  waits  to  see  how 
you  will  bear  the  announcement  of  your  doom." 

"  Good  heavens !  you  seem  as  cold-blooded  as  he — ana 
speak  of  my  sentence  as  though  you  were  conferring  a 
favor." 

"  I  speak  of  your  sentence  as  something  better  than 
certain  death ;  and  in  order  to  give  you  a  chance  for  your 
life,  I  will  tell  you  what  to  reply.     You  must  demand  a 


TRYING   EVEXTS.  123 


trial  by  Council — which,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
Wepecoolahs,  cannot  be  refused." 

"  And  -will  this  proceeding  save  me  ?" 

"  We  hope  to  save  you  by  this  proceeding." 

"  Then  make  such  demand  for  me." 

Langee  turned  to  the  chief,  who  seemed  to  be  getting 
impatient,  and  spoke  a  few  words  in  the  Indian  tongue. 

Kenneloo  started,  with  a  look  of  surprise  and  anger; 
and  then  replying  in  a  loud,  fierce  tone,  stalked  out  of  the 
Council  House,  leaving  the  Hermit  alone  with  me. 

The  latter  now  turned  to  me,  with  a  troubled  expres- 
sion, and  said : 

"  To  save  you,  young  man,  I  fear  I  have  sealed  my  own 
doom." 

"  How  so  ?"  I  inquired,  in  surprise. 

"  He  says  that  I  either  dictated  your  reply,  or  have 
translated  it  falsely;  and  that  be  it  which  it  may,  I  shall 
answer  for  it." 

"And  what  will  be  the  consequences  to  you,  my 
friend  ?" 

"  If  you  escape  the  torture,  I  shall  probably  be  tried  by 
Council;  and  if  condemned,  must  suffer  in  your  stead — 
for  Kenneloo  declares  he  will  have  a  victim." 

"  Then  do  not  save  my  life  at  the  sacrifice  of  your  own, 
Langee,"  I  replied.  "I  could  not  ask  that,  even  wore 
you  a  tried  friend,  instead  of  a  stranger." 

*'  God's  will  be  done  !"  returned  the  Hermit,  calmly. 
**You  are  more  worthy  to  live  than  I — and  there  are  ties 
binding  you  to  earth — while  I  have  none.  No,  no,"  ho 
continued,  reflectingly,  sadly,  and  touchingly — "there  are 
none  now  to  mourn  the  loss  of  a  wretch  like  me — life  is 
become  a  burden  rather  than  a  pleasure — and  the  sooner 
I  sleep  in  death  the  better.  Nature,  it  is  true,  shrinks 
from  death,  even  when  the  spirit  longs  for  it — and  nature 


124  CLARA   MORl^LAND. 

doubly  revolts  at  physical  torture — but  we  must  all  pass 
the  great  bourne,  in  some  way,  sooner  or  later;  and  if 
this  is  to  be  my  fate,  I  will  try  to  bear  it  with  Christian 
fortitude  and  resignation,  as  a  portion  of  the  punishment 
due  to  my  transgressions,  and  say,  *  God's  will  be  done !'  " 

I  was  struck  with  the  manner  and  language  of  ray 
strange  companion  ;  and  believing  him  sincerely  repentant, 
I  felt  that,  however  great  were  his  sins,  they  would  be  for- 
given. 

"  God  is  above  all,  and  rules  all,  generous  stranger  !"  1 
said,  seizing  his  hand;  and  " peradventure  He  will  yet 
deliver  us  both  from  the  hands  of  our  enemies.  But  tell 
me — know  you  any  thing  of  my  fair  companion  V 

"  Ha  !"  he  said,  starting — "  the  lady  that  was  with  you 
— I  hope  no  harm  has  befallen  her?" 

"  Then  you  know  nothing  of  her  ?" 

"  Nothing  :  I  have  not  seen  her  since  we  parted  on  the 
night  you  were  made  captives.  Was  she  not  brought  to 
the  village  with  you?" 

"  Yes ;  but  immediately  after  we  were  separated  by 
Dundenah  ;  and  for  more  than  a  week  I  have  neither  seen 
nor  heard  from  her,  and  know  not  whether  she  is  living  or 
dead." 

"  And  did  you  question  Dundenah  ?" 

"Yes,  many  times — but  she  would  give  me  no  answer." 

"  This  is  strange  !"  returned  Langee,  musingly,  and 
shaking  his  head,  as  one  in  doubt :  "  this  is  strange  ! 
Can  it  be  ?"  he  proceeded,  rather  thinking  aloud  than  ad- 
dressing me  :  "  Can  it  be  ?  There  is  something  to  favor 
the  suspicion ;  and  then  she  was  always  wayward,  wilful, 
and  even  passionately  rash  when  a  child.  But  then  again 
it  was  too  soon  for  her  to  stake  all  upon  so  bold  a  stroke. 
You  say  you  were  separated  almost  immediately  after  your 
arrival  in  the  village  ?"  he  continued,  raising  his  large, 


TRYING  EVENTS.  125 


iark,  wild-looking  ejes  from  the  ground,  and  fixing  them 
upon  me. 

*' Yes — we  were  scarcely  together  here  a  quarter  of  ap 
hour.  But  what  do  you  fiear,  Langee  ?  Speak !  tell  me 
the  worst  at  once  ?" 

"  Could  Dundenah  have  known  from  your  manner  that 
you  loved  the  maiden  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly.  But  what  could  this  have  to  do  with 
our  separation  ?** 

"  Nothing,  perhaps,  with  your  separation — though  much, 
perchance,  with  what  followed." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.** 

"  Well,  let  it  pass :  I  must  see  more,  ere  I  venture  to 
tell  you  my  conjectures :  they  may  be  erroneous  ones.'* 

"But  what  think  you  has  been  done  with  Clara  ?'* 

"I  cannot  say." 

"  You  surely  do  not  think  any  harm  has  befallen  her  ?" 

"  I  hope  not." 

"  Hope  not  ?'*  cried  I.  "  Good  heavens !  you  alarm  me 
with  even  a  vague  suspicion— you  who  so  well  know  Dun- 
denah and  the  Wepecoolahs." 

"  Well,  I  know  nothing  of  this  matter,  and  therefore 
you  should  not  get  alarmed  at  my  words.  In  truth,  I 
rather  think  the  girl  is  safe  and  unharmed." 

"  If  otherwise,  they  may  lead  me  to  death  as  soon  as 
they  like,"  said  I,  despondingly. 

"  Then  you  prize  her  more  than  life  ?" 

"  I  would  give  my  life  for  hers." 

"  That  is  true  love,  and  springs  from  a  noble  heart,'* 
rejoined  Langee.  "  But  were  the  maiden  dead,  have  you 
no  other  ties  to  bind  you  to  earth  ?" 

"Yes,  many^"  replied  I,  as  my  thoughts  reverted  to 
home  and  my  friends. 

11* 


126 


CLARA   MORELAND. 


"  Then  you  are  to  be  envied,  even  in  your  misfortune,' 
rejoined  the  Hermit,  gloomily. 

And  turning  aside  to  one  of  the  benches,  he  seated  him- 
Belf,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  commenced  rocking  to 
and  fro,  as  I  had  seen  him  do  in  his  own  hovel  on  the 
prairie. 

I  seated  myself  also  ;  and  for  several  minutes  gave  way 
to  such  poignant  reflections  as  my  own  situation,  and  the 
uncertainty  shrouding  the  fate  of  poor  Clara,  naturally 
awakened.  I  thought  in  silence,  till  thought  without  utter- 
ance became  too  painful  to  bear  ;  and  I  resolved  to  renew 
conversation  with  my  strange  companion.  At  the  same 
time  it  occurred  to  me  ;  that  I  had  forgotten  to  question 
him  concerning  the  expedition  of  the  Wepecoolahs ;  and 
approaching  him  at  once,  I  touched  him  on  the  shoulder — 
but  I  had  to  repeat  this,  and  even  to  shake  him,  before  I 
could  rouse  him  from  his  deep  reverie. 

At  length  he  raised  his  head,  and  looking  around  some- 
what wildly,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  mine,  and  said,  with  a 
kind  of  sigh  : 

"Ah  me  !  you  have  recalled  me  from  the  past  to  the 
present — and  I  suffer  by  the  transition.  Rare  thing  for 
me  !  memory  was  busy  with  the  earl}'"  and  happy  scenes  of 
my  existence — and  they  have  been  all  too  few." 

"  I  crave  pardon  then!"  I  replied.  "  Had  I  known  you 
were  occupied  with  pleasant  reflections,  I  might  have 
envied,  but  certainly  should  not  have  disturbed  you." 

"  Well,  well — no  matter,"  he  rejoined,  gloomily :  "  the 
present  had  to  return,  and  you  only  hastened  it  by  a  few 
moments." 

"  I  wished  to  ask  you  concerning  the  last  expedition  of 
the  Wepecoolahs?" 

"  Thank  God,  it  was  for  the  most  part  a  failure !"  he 
Baid,  earnestly ;  "for  though  I  would  mingle  not  with  mf 


TRYING   EVENTS.  127 


kind,  for  reasons  of  my  own,  yet  I  bear  no  ill-feeling 
toward  them,  and  really  wish  them  well — least  of  all 
would  I  voluntarily  be  an  accessory  to  blood  and  plunder, 
even  were  the  parties  assailed  my  enemies. 

"  The  object  of  the  expedition  of  the  Wepecoolahs  was 
revenge  upon  their  natural  foes,  the  whites  ;  and  their  in- 
tention was  to  steal,  like  a  cat  upon  her  prey,  upon  a  cer- 
tain frontier  settlement,  and  achieve  a  sudden  and  awful 
victory,  by  indiscriminate  massacre,  fire  and  plunder.  I 
went  with  them  the  more  readily,  that,  in  the  first  place, 
resistance  was  out  of  the  question  ;  secondly,  I  could  do 
nothing  to  prevent  the  diabolical  attempt  being  made  ;  and 
thirdly,  I  thought  if  I  could  not  by  any  means  warn  the 
inhabitants  of  their  approach,  I  might  perhaps  succeed  in 
rescuing  some  poor  fellow  being  from  the  general  doom. 

"  But  Providence  frustrated  their  bloody  design,  and 
made  it  recoil  upon  themselves.  They  crossed  the  Brazos, 
and  penetrated  the  country  low  down  toward  the  Gulf, 
without  being  discovered ;  and  one  stormy  night,  about  the 
mid-hour,  having  left  their  horses  in  a  neighboring  wood, 
they  stole  down  upon  a  small  settlement,  and,  simulta- 
neously uttering  their  terrible  war-whoop,  rushed  on,  as 
they  supposed  to  easy  conquest. 

"  But  it  so  chanced  that  a  gallant  band  of  Texas  Ran- 
gers were  just  entering  the  village  to  quarter  for  the  night, 
and  they  met  the  savages  in  their  fierce  career. 

"  The  result  was  a  signal  defeat  to  the  latter,  with  a  loss 
of  some  ten  or  twelve  killed  outright,  and  several  others 
wounded.  The  Indians  made  a  precipitate  retreat  to  their 
horses ;  and  such  of  them  as  were  fortunate  enough  to 
reach  them  in  advance  of  their  pursuers,  effected  their 
escape  ;  but  there  are  nineteen  notches  to  be  cut  from  the 
tally-stick  of  the  tribe ;  and  among  the  missing,  who  will 


128  CLARA  MORELAND. 

return  no  more,  they  number  some  of  their  best  and 
bravest  fighters." 

I  could  not  but  rejoice  at  this  signal  defeat  of  the 
Wepecoolahs,  although  it  rendered  the  mere  chance  of 
escape  from  such  a  body  of  disappointed  and  infuriated 
beings  next  to  a  miracle,  and  I  so  expressed  myself  to 
Langee. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  in  all  probability  we  shall  be  the 
victims,  on  whom  will  fall  most  heavily  their  retaliatory 
vengeance.  I  could  have  escaped  during  the  melee — but  I 
had  passed  my  word  of  honor  to  Kenneloo,  not  to  do  so 
under  any  circumstances,  and  I  would  not  forfeit  that  to 
save  my  unworthy  life.  If  he,  an  Indian,  an  uncultivated 
savage,  and  a  foe  to  my  race,  had  faith  enough  in  my 
integrity  to  take  my  unsupported  word*  for  the  security  of 
my  person,  it  would  be  a  burning  shame,  I  thought,  for 
me  to  be  the  first  to  convince  him  that  a  Christian  white 
man  values  life  more  than  honor,  to  say  nothing  of  the  sin 
of  deliberately  telling  a  falsehood." 

"  You  may  be  in  the  right,"  I  rejoined  ;  "but  the  very 
fewest  number  would  have  reasoned  so  under  such  circum- 
stances." 

"That  may  be,"  he  pursued;  "but  a  thousand  wrongs 
never  made  a  right ;  and  he  who  attempts  to  act  on  prin- 
ciple, should  keep  principle  paramount  to  all  other  objects 
or  considerations." 

"What  to  me  seems  the  most  wonderful  part  of  the 
whole  matter  is,  that  Kenneloo  should  have  accepted  your 
word  as  sufficient  security  for  your  person,"  I  said. 

"He  had  seen  me  tried  before,"  said  Langee. 

"  And  think  you,  after  all  this,  he  will  deliberately  put 
you  to  death?" 

"He  may  do  so — for  there  is  no  calculating  on  the 
whims  of  an  untutored  savage." 


TRTINp   EVENTS.  129 


"And  does  your  word  bind  you  not  to  escape  now?"  I 
inquired. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  it  does." 

""Then  were  I  in  your  place,  I  would  avsil  myself  of 
the  first  opportunity  to  get  out  of  the  clutches  of  such 
dangerous  enemies." 

"  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  escape  now,"  replied  Langee, 
"  even  were  I  so  inclined.  Kenneloo,  as  I  have  already 
informed  you,  has  become  suspicious  uf  me ;  T^d.  it  would 
not  surprise  me  to  find  myself  .ere  long  depx^ved  of  my 
liberty.  But  I  will  go,"  he  pursued,  "and  ^^deavor  to 
ascertain  the  state  of  feeling  among  the  sar,-fi;es  with 
regard  to  both  of  us ;  and  also  learn,  if  I  can,  "^hat  has 
been  done  with  your  fair  companion." 

"Do,"  I  said,  "and  let  me  see  you  at  the  e"^rliest 
moment  practicable — for  I  am  in  a  stata  of  any^^tss  sus- 
pense." 

The  Hermit  rose,  and  went  to  the  doov,  where  ht  «X)oke 
a  few  words  with  the  Indian  guard ;  and  ihen  return^iig  to 
me,  said : 

"It  is  as  I  feared — I  am  already  a  close  prisoners  the 
Bentry  has  orders  not  to  let  me  leave  the  »Jouncil  Hou>^>." 

At  this  moment  we  heard  voices  without ;  and  dirrs*tly 
after,   Kenneloo  entered  the  building,  f<>Mowed  by  s^me 
twenty  of  his  most  distinguished  warriors. 
9 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE   DOOM   AND   THE   HOPE. 


Four  of  the  warriors  immediately  separated  from  the 
others,  and,  without  a  word  being  spoken,  proceeded  to 
bind  the  arms  of  Langee  and  myself  behind  our  backs. 
We  were  then  conducted  out  of  the  house  into  the  open 
air,  where  we  were  closely  guarded  by  six  of  the  party 
just  returned  from  the  expedition;  while  those  within 
proceeded,  in  due  Indian  form,  to  settle  the  question  as  to 
what  should  be  our  fate. 

Never  did  I  think  nature  so  beautiful,  as  when  I  first 
beheld  it  after  a  week's  confinement ;  and  were  I  but  free 
once  more  to  enjoy  it,  I  fancied  I  could  be  content  with 
almost  any  other  fortune.  The  day  was  clear,  the  air 
delightful,  and  the  sun  stood  in  mid-heaven,  pouring  down 
his  bright  rays  and  giving  to  every  object  a  charming 
mellowness  of  aspect,  which  appeared  the  more  beautiful 
to  me,  because  I  believed  I  should  soon  lose  sight  of  all 
forever. 

Presently  I  heard  Indian  voices  in  the  Council  House — 
but  not  understanding  their  language,  I  knew  nothing  that 
was  said.  Langee  did,  however ;  but  he  was  not  allowed 
to  communicate  with  me.  Once,  after  a  rather  long,  loud, 
fiery  speech,  Langee  turned  his  dark,  hollow  eyes  mourn- 
fully upon  me,  and  slightly  shook  his  head,  which  I  under- 
stood to  mean  that  our  doom  was,  or  would  be,  sealed. 

The  deliberations  of  the  Indians  lasted  some  two  or 
three  hours — during  which  time  the  villagers,  of  all  ages, 
(130) 


THE  DOOM  AND  THE  HOPE.         131 

surrounded  us,  peering  at  us  curiously,  but  observing  a 
decorum  that  surprised  me,  considering  that  they  were 
savages.  None  were  allowed  to  advance  within  the 
ring  made  by  our  guard,  which  was  perhaps  ten  feet  in 
diameter;  but  outside  of  this  they  formed  a  complete 
circle,  and  conversec}  in  low,  quiet  tones.  Occasionally 
hands  clenched,  and  fierce  eyes  glared  upon  me ;  but  being 
a  stranger  to  them,  and  of  a  race  which  they  este^emed 
natural  enemies,  I  thought  if  they  did  not  maltreat  me,  I 
had  reason  to  be  grateful  for  their  forbearance. 

Toward  Langee,  however,  whom  most  of  them  had 
known  in  former  years,  and  whom  they  evidently  regarded 
as  more  Indian  than  white,  the  looks  directed  were  those 
of  sympathy ;  and  I  fancied  I  saw  enough  to  warrant  the 
conclusion  that  the  popular  vote  would  go  against  his  con- 
demnation, at  the  same  time  that  it  would  approve  of  mine. 

In  vain  I  looked  among  the  crowd,  in  every  direction, 
for  one  glimpse  of  the  sweet,  sad  face  of  Clara — for  if 
alive,  and  permitted  to  do  so,  I  knew  she  would  endeavor 
to  see  me.  But  no !  no — alas !  no — she  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen ;  and  I  began  to  entertain  the  horrible  suspicion  that 
she  had  been  put  to  death.  If  so,  the  guilt  I  believed 
rested  with  Dundenah,  as  the  supreme  authority  of  the 
tribe  in  the  absence  of  her  father ;  and  the  bare  idea  that 
her  hands  were  imbrued  in  the  blood  of  her  I  loved,  made 
me  regard  her  as  a  demoness  of  hell's  worst  type — the  more 
devilish,  that  her  knowledge  and  intelligence  should  have 
ennobled  her  above  those  by  whom  she  was  surrounded. 

While  occupied  with  these  thoughts,  Dundenah  made  her 
appearance.  All  moved  respectfully  aside,  to  give  her  an 
opportunity  to  approach  us. 

"  Why  is  Langee  here,  thus  guarded  ?"  she  said, 
addressing  the  Hermit  in  English,  that  none  of  the  others 
might  understand. 


132  CLARA    MORELAND. 

- — __________^ —  "■<  .. 

"  Because,  in  following  your  directions,  with  regard  to 
this  youth,  I  unfortunately  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
your  father." 

"How  so?" 

"  By  telling  the  youth,  when  doomed  to  die,  to  demand 
a  trial  by  Council.  Kenneloo  says  I  either  told  him  how 
to  answer,  or  translated  his  answer  falsely." 

"^nd  is  the  great  chief  not  satisfied  to  allow  him  a 
trial  by  Council?"  cried  Dundenah,  with  flashing  eyes. 
"Would  he  doom  him  to  the  stake  without  a  consulta- 
tion?" 

"You  see  T  am  a  prisoner  for  obeying  you — that  will 
best  answer  your  questions,"  replied  Langee. 

"  But  Langee  shall  not  suffer  for  obeying  the  Leaping 
Fawn,"  she  returned,  quickly.  "  Dundenah  will  save  him. 
She  swears  it,  by  the  great  Wandewah!"  Then  turning 
to  me :  "  Would  the  Dark-Eye  content  him  with  life  and 
liberty  and  a  home  among  the  Wepecoolahs  ?" 

"Ere  I  answer,  Dundenah,"  I  returned,  with  com- 
pressed lips,  fixing  my  eyes  keenly  upon  hers,  "  you  must 
tell  me  what  has  become  of  the  Blue-Eye  ?" 

For  a  few  moments  she  looked  at  me  as  though  she 
would  annihilate  me  on  the  spot;  and  then  slowly  and 
impressively  replied : 

"  No  prisoner  so  bold  as  to  decline  answering  the 
daughter  of  the  great  Kenneloo,  ever  lived  to  boast  of  it." 

"Well,"  I  rejoined,  with  considerable  asperity  in  my 
tone,  "you  can  take  my  life,  for  it  is  in  your  power,  but 
force  me  to  answer  you  cannot." 

For  some  moments  Dundenah  fairly  glared  upon  me,  so 
enraged  did  she  seem  at  the  audacity  of  my  reply.  Then 
compressing  her  thin  lips,  as  one  trying  to  speak  calmly, 
under  the  excitement  of  the  most  intense  passion,  she 
rejoined : 


BE   DOOM  AND   THE   HOPE.  133 


f 


"And  does  the  Dark-Eye  thus  show  his  gratitude  to 
Dundenah  for  her  endeavors  to  save  his  life  ?" 

"  I  acknowledge  no  cause  for  gratitude,  when  you  have 
taken  fron\  me  that  which  is  dearer  than  life,"  I  re- 
plied. ''  Only  tell  me  the  Blue-Eye  is  safe  and  well,  and 
I  am  your  slave,  to  obey  your  slightest  command;  but  if. 
you  have  wronged  her,  I  solemnly  invoke  the  curse  of 
Heaven  upon  you  !" 

"  The  Dark-Eye  is  sealing  his  own  doom,"  she  rejoined, 
sharply, 

"  Be  it  so ;  I  can  die  but  once,  and  death  puts  an  end  to 
your  tyranny." 

For  perhaps  a  minute  after  I  said  this,  her  keen,  black, 
searching  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  mine,  while  every  fea- 
ture seemed  to  quiver  with  the  struggle  of  pent  up  rage. 
Then  stamping  her  foot  upon  the  ground,  she  fairly  hissed 
forth  : 

"  The  Dark-Eye  has  chosen ;"  and  darted  into  the 
Council  House. 

I  now  indeed  felt  that  my  last  hope  was  gone,  and  re- 
gretted that  I  had  been  so  hasty ;  for  my  death  could  not 
benefit  Clara,  whether  living  or  dead  herself ;  and  if  living, 
the  news  of  my  untimely  end  would  only  add  a  lasting 
grief  to  her  misery.  It  was  too  late,  however,  to  recall 
my  words  ;  and  not  knowing  what  moment  I  might  now  be 
called  upon  to  play  my  last  part  in  the  great  drama  of  life, 
I  turned  my  thoughts  inwardly,  and  strove  to  make  my 
peace  with  Heaven. 

It  was  perhaps  an  hour  after  this,  when  a  messenger 
came  from  the  Council,  and  bade  our  guard  conduct  us^into 
the  presence  of  our  Indian  judges. 

As  we  entered,  Kenneloo  was  seated  at  the  far  end  of 
the  building,  with  Dundenah  standing  just  behind  him,  and 
the  warriors,  equally  divided,  ranged  along  the  circular 

12 


134  CLARA  MORELAND. 


walls  on  his  right  and  left.  As  we  drew  near  to  the  chief, 
I  did  not  fail  to  perceive  a  peculiar  expression  of  triumph, 
which  assured  me  that  the  question  of  life  and  death  had 
been  settled  to  his  satisfaction. 

I  next  glanced  at  Dundenah.  She  was  standing  just  be- 
hind her  father,  motionless  as  a  statue,  with  her  arms 
crossed  on  her  bosom,  and  her  eyes  bent  on  the  ground.  I 
was  struck  with  the  aspect  of  her  features.  The  look  of 
fierj,  haughty  pride  was  no  longer  there  ;  but  in  its  place 
one  of  dejection,  if  not  of  sorrow.  The  change  was  for 
the  better ;  and  as  I  now  beheld  her  countenance,  I  could 
truly  pronounce  it  lovely.  Could  it  be  that  one  who  looked 
thus,  was  an  incarnate  demoness,  devoid  of  the  more  gentle 
feelings  which  belong  to  her  sex  ?  No  !  it  was  impossible. 
Such  an  expression  could  never  find  place  upon  the  coun- 
tenance of  one  whose  heart  was  steeled  to  pity,  mercy,  and 
all  the  nobler  and  holier  emotions  ! 

As  these  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind,  Dundenah 
raised  her  eyes,  and  their  glance  encountered  mine.  At 
first  she  seemed  disposed  to  resume  that  look  of  haughty 
pride,  which,  till  now,  she  had  ever  displayed  in  my  pre- 
sence ;  but  from  some  cause,  perhaps  because  she  perceived 
on  my  features  an  expression  more  in  unison  with  her  own 
feelings,  she  finally  let  her  dark  eyes  rest  upon  me  with  a 
gleam  of  gentleness,  and  even  of  pity,  that  I  had  never 
before  believed  her  capable  of  feeling,  and  I  began  to  won- 
der what  could  possibly  have  occurred  to  effect  so  great  a 
change  so  suddenly. 

The  chief,  however,  soon  claimed  my  attention.  After 
surveying  us  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  with  a  savage 
smile  of  triumph  upon  his  repulsive  features,  he  rose  and 
addressed  himself  to  Langee.  His  words  were  few — but 
the  utterance  was  slow  and  harsh.  When  he  had  done,  he 
resumed  his  seatj  and  fixed  his  black,  snakey  eyes  upon  my 


THE  DOOM  AND  THE  HOPE.         135 


countenance,  to  note  the  manner  in  which  I  would  receive 
my  sentence  from  the  lips  of  the  Hermit. 

"It  is  as  I  feared,  my  young  friend,"  began  Langee; 
"you are  already  doomed  to  die  by  torture." 

I  started,  and  felt  the  blood  rush  to  my  temples,  and 
then  retreat  to  my  heart,  as  these  horrible  words  fell  upon 
my  ear ;  for  notwithstanding  I  had  believed  myself  fully 
prepared  to  hear  this  sentence  without  exhibiting  any 
emotion,  I  now  found  that  a  fair^t  hope  that  so  severe  a  one 
would  never  be  passed  upon  me,  had  all  along  been  ming- 
ling with  the  contemplation. 

Recollecting  that  the  eyes  of  my  foes  were  upon  me, 
and  that  they  were  secretly  enjoying  the  triumph  of  seeing 
a  white  man  pale  and  tremble,  I  immediately  regained  an 
outward  composure,  and,  in  a  calm,  even  tone  of  voice,  in 
quired : 

"  When  is  this  sentence  to  be  executed  ?" 

"  To-morrow,"  he  replied,  sadly. 

"And  in  what  manner?" 

"  You  are  to  die  at  the  stake,  by  a  slow  fire." 

"  And  you,  my  friend  ?" 

"  In  case  you  suffer,  my  sentence  is  not  so  severe,"  he 
replied ;  "  but  if  aught  should  occur  to  prevent  your  dying 
at  the  stake,  I  am  to  be  put  to  death  in  your  place." 

"  Then  it  seems  they  think  it  possible  something  may 
occur  to  prevent  their  sentence  being  carried  into  execu- 
tion ?" 

"  Kenneloo  has  provided  for  such  a-,  contingency,  that  he 
may  not  be  cheated  of  his  horrible  sacrifice,"  replied  the 
Hermit. 

"  And  when  I  am  dead,  are  you  to  be  set  at  liberty  ?"  I 
inquired. 

"  No  !  the  revengeful  Kenneloo  has  effected  a  sentence 
»f  degradation.     I  am  to  take  my  place  among  the  Sool- 


136  CLARA  MORELAND. 

epcooms,  or  Squaw-workers,  the  drudges  •  of  the  tribe,  till 
such  time  as  his  savage  chiefship  may  see  proper  to  restore 
me  to  equal  fellowship  with  his  heathen  followers." 

This  seemed  to  come  forth  with  more  bitterness  than  any 
sentence  which  I  had  heard  Langee  utter  since  my  cap- 
tivity ;  and  it  -tvas  accompanied  by  a  wild  rolling  of  his 
hollow  eyes,  and  a  look  generally,  that  presaged  the  stirring 
up  of  those  dark,  fierce  passions,  which,  ere  now,  had  torn 
and  rent  him  like  one  possessed  of  a  devil,  and  which  per- 
haps had  cost  him  years  of  suffering  and  prayerful  strug- 
gle to  subdue  and  control. 

"But  you  may  find  an  opportunity  to  escape,"  I  said,  in 
a  low  tone  ;  "  and  if  you  do,  oh !  use  it !  and,  for  the  love 
of  Heaven  !  bear  tidin^''  of  my  fate  to  Colonel  Moreland, 
of  Houston,  Texas,  and  ted  him  that  his  daughter  is  either 
dead  or  here  a  prisoner !" 

The  chief  here  spoke  to  Langee  in  a  harsh  tone,  who 
said  to  me  in  English : 

"  Kenneloo  is  getting  impatient ;  he  thinks  our  interview 
unnecessarily  prolonged.  A  thought  strikes  me  !  Would 
you  not  rather  die  a  sudden  death  now,  than  wait  for  the 
stake  to-morrow,  and  undergo  the  most  excruciating  tor- 
tures ?'* 

I  reflected  a  moment,  and  replied : 

"  You  forget,  Langee,  that  were  I  to  die  now,  you  would 
be  required  to  take  my  place." 

"And  you  forget,"  he  said,  "that  Dundenah  has  sworn 
by  Wandewah  I  shall  not  suffer."  ^ 

"  What  then  do  you  propose  ?" 

"  Rush  at  once  upon  Kenneloo,  as  he  sits  there,  and,  my 
word  for  it,  he  brains  you  on  the  impulse  of  the  mo- 
ment." 

I  considered  my  chances  of  escape,  and  resolved  to  da 
it ;  for  better  a  speedy  death  to-day,  I  thought,  than  a 


J 


THE  DOOM  AND  THE  HOPE.         137 

lingering  one  of  torture  to-morrow.  I  implored  Langee, 
if  it  were  possible  for  him  to  get  away  from  the  savages, 
to  do  so,  and  let  the  friends  of  Clara  know  what  had  be- 
come of  her.  I  then  bade  him  farewell,  and  turned  to  rush 
upon  the  chief — when,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  myself  con- 
fronted with  Dundenah.  Her  proud,  haughty  look  had 
now  returned,  and  her  glance  and  air  were  stern,  as  she 
said: 

"  The  design  of  the  Dark-Eye  and  Langee  is  known  to 
Dundenah,  and  she  has  foiled  it." 

She  then  spoke  a  few  words  to  her  father,  who  imme- 
diately arose  and  broke  up  the  Council.  He  passed  out 
of  the  Council  House,  followed  by  his  warriors,  with  the 
exception  of  the  six  who  had  charge  of  us.  These  latter 
placed  both  Langee  and  myself  on  our  backs,  on  the  ground, 
and  proceeded  to  bind  our  limbs,  so  that  we  had  no  use 
of  them.  They  then  went  out,  leaving  one  as  sentry  at 
the  door. 

Dundenah  did  not  immediately  follow  them.  For  a  few 
moments  she  stood  with  her  arms  folded  on  her  bosom — a 
favorite  attitude  "with  her — and  her  eyes  bent  on  the 
ground.  Then  she  took  two  or  three  hasty  turns  up  and 
down  the  Council  House,  and  paused  between  Langee  and 
myself,  as  we  lay  on  our  backs  about  six  feet  apart.  Fix- 
ing her  piercing  black  eyes  on  the  Hermit,  she^  said,  in  a 
low,  but  severe  tone : 

"  Till  Dundenah's  ears  heard  the  base  counsel  of 
Langee,  she  did  not  think  him  treacherous  to  the  Leaping 
Fawn  and  Kenneloo." 

**  If  you  call  my  counsel  to  the  Dark-Eye,  to  save  him- 
self from  torture,  treachery,  I  have  nothing  to  say — only, 
that  I  am  sorry  my  plan  did  not  succeed,"  replied  the 
other. 

12* 


138  CLARA   MORELAND. 


And  had  it  succeeded,  Langee  would  have  relied  on 
the  oath  of  Dundenah  to  save  him  from  the  stake  ? 

"  Well,  was  that  treachery  to  believe  you  would  keep 
your  oath  ?"  queried  the  other. 

"  No !  but  it  was  treachery  to  seek  to  snatch  the  pri- 
soner from  the  hands  of  the  Wepecoolahs,"  replied  Dunde- 
nah; "and  it  is  well  none  understood  Langee  but  the 
Leaping  Fawn,  or  he  would  scarce  be  living  now.  Dun-  • 
denah  fears  Langee  has  given  her  oath  too  broad  a 
license.  She  swore  he  should  not  suffer  for  obeying  her — 
but  to  urge  the  Dark- Eye  to  speedy  death,  was  none  of 
her  command." 

"Well!  well!  what  would  you?"  said  the  Hermit, 
rather  impatiently. 

"  Dundenah  would  warn  Langee  against  rashness.  Had 
the  Dark-Eye  died  by  his  counsel,  the  blood  of  the  Dark- 
Eye  would  now  be  on  the  head  of  Langee." 

"  I  venture  to  say  the  Dark- Eye  does  not  view  the  mat- 
ter in  that  light  himself!"  rejoined  the  Hermit. 

"By  no  means,"  I  replied:  "I  sincerely  believe  you 
meant  your  advice  for  the  best,  Langee ;  and  I  thank  you 
for  it ;  although,  as  matters  turned  out,  it  failed  to  bene- 
fit me." 

"  Then  the  Dark-Eye  wishes  death  ?"  cried  Dundenah, 
turning  sharply  upon  me. 

"  No,  I  do  not  wish  for  death ;  but  I  am  already 
doomed;  and  I  prefer  a  speedy  death  to  one  of  torture." 

"  And  the  Dark-Eye  would  rather  die  now  than  take 
his  chances  of  escape  ?" 

"  What  chiances  ?     I  know  not  there  are  any." 

"And  think  you  Dundenah  is  powerless  among  her 
tribe  ?" 

"By  no  means;  but  you  will  make  no  effort  to  save 
me. 


THE  DOOM   AND   THE  HOPE.  139 


"  How  knows  the  Dark-Eje  that  ?" 

"  I  judge  it  from  what  passed  between  us  at  a  former 
interview." 

"  Was  it  not  by  the  advice  of  Dundenah  that  the  Dark- 
Eje  demanded  the  trial  by  Council  ?" 

"  I  was  told  so ;  and  then  I  was  also  led  to  believe  that 
Dundenah  would  make  an  effort  to  save  me." 

"  And  does  the  Dark-Eye  think  otherwise  now  ?" 

"  I  have  reason  to  think  so.  Am  I  not  already  con- 
demned ?"  ' 

"  Would  the  Dark-Eye  content  him  with  a  home  among 
the  Wepecoolahs  ?" 

"  No,"  I  replied — "  I  certainly  could  not  be  contented 
here." 

"Not  even  with  the  Blue-Eye  for  a  companion?"  que- 
ried my  singular  interrogator,  closely  watching  my  fea- 
tures. 

"  Ha !  does  the  Blue-Eye  live  then  ?  is  she  safe  and 
well?"  cried  I,  quickly. 

"Would  the  Dark-Eye  content  him  to  remain  among 
the  Wepecoolahs,  with  the  Blue-Eye  for  a  companion  ?" 
repeated  Dundenah,  in  a  tone  that  I  fancied  was  a  little 
tremulous. 

"  I  cannot  say  I  would  be  contented  here,  Dundenah," 
I  answered ;  "  but  if  assured  that  the  Blue-Eye  is  safe 
and  well,  and  that  we  may  be  permitted  to  be  together 
occasionally,  I  will  accept  my  life  with  almost  any 
conditions." 

"  Let  the  Dark-Eye  beware  then  how  he  seeks  to  hasten 
his  existence  to  a  close !"  replied  Dundenah  ;  and  turn- 
ing on  her  heel,  she  immediately  quitted  the  Council 
Houso. 

After  reflecting   for  a   short   time  on  what  she  had 


140  CLARA   MORELAND. 

said,  I  asked  the  Hermit,  in  a  low  tone,  what  he  thought 
of  it. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  your  companion  is  unin- 
jured," he  replied;  and  was  about  to  add  something  more, 
when  the  sentry  came  running  to  us,  spoke  to  him  in  the 
Indian  tongue,  and  made  signs  to  me  that  we  must  hold 
no  further  communication  with  each  other. 

Wearily,  wearily  the  hours  passed  away,  and  the  day 
dragged  to  a  close.  The  position  in  which  I  lay  would 
have  been  continually  painful,  had  not  my  mind  been  so 
much  occupied  with  other  matters.  I  recalled  the  words 
and  manner  of  Dundenah,  and  hope  of  two  kinds  began  to 
faintly  dawn  in  my  breast, — first,  that  Clara  was  alive 
and  well ;  and  secondly,  that  by  some  means  my  life 
would  be  preserved. 

Granting  that  this  hope  would  not  prove  fallacious,  the 
sequence  which  I  ventured  to  calculate  kept  my  brain 
active,  and  on  the  wings  of  conjecture  I  travelled  far  into 
the  future.  Should  my  life  be  preserved,  and  should 
Clara  and  I  again  meet,  I  thought  that  on  the  strength  of 
S9  much  good  fortune  I  could  safely  found  the  greater 
hope  of  providential  escape  from  the  savages  with  my  fair 
companion — and,  with  her  also,  ultimate  happiness. 

But  the  mental  structure  I  thus  reared  and  enlarged, 
I  found,  upon  reconsideration,  had  a  very  small  foun- 
dation, and  I  knew  that  the  slightest  adverse  force  would 
topple  it  down  a  mass  of  ruins. 

Night  came  on — but  no  one  came  to  visit  us — not  even 
to  offer  us  food.  This  did  not  surprise  me  in  my  own 
case ;  but  I  thought  it  strange  that  Langee  should  be 
treated  thus  severely,  unless  it  were  the  intention  of  the 
Indians  to  put  him  to  death  also. 

Several  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  him,  in  a 
low  tone,  what  construction  he  put  upon  this  treatment ; 


THE  DOOM  AND   THE  HOPE.  141 

but  as  often  I  remembered  the  warning  of  the  sentry, 
recalled  the  conversation  I  had  had  with  Dundenah,  and 
thought  it  best  to  keep  silent,  and  not  draw  upon  myself 
any  further  savage  displeasure. 

Hours  of  deep,  lonely  silence  thus  passed  away,  with 
the  Hermit  within  six  feet  of  me,  when  an  incident  took 
place  which  I  will  record  in  the  following  chapter. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

ESCAPE   OP   LANGEE,   AND   WHAT   FOLLOWED. 

From  the  setting  in  of  night,  I  lost  sight  of  my  strange 
companion;  and  though  I  had  every  reason  to  helieve 
that  he  was  still  lying  within  six  feet  of  me,  yet  for  houra 
I  had  heard  no  sound,  not  even  a  movement  or  a  breath, 
to  assure  me  that  such  was  the  case.  My  natural  conclu- 
sion was,  that  he  was  asleep ;  but  still  I  thought  it  very 
singular  that  he  should  lie  so  quietly,  and  sleep  so  easily ; 
and  I  could  have  fancied  he  was  not  there  now,  only  that 
I  knew  I  had  not  lost  myself,  even  in  a  dose,  for  a  single 
moment,  and  regarded  it  as  next  to  impossible  that  he 
could  have  got  away  without  making  any  noise. 

Through  the  first  part  of  the  night,  I  had  been  so  occu- 
pied with  thoughts  peculiar  to  my  own  situation,  that  this 
had  not  struck  me  as  any  thing  remarkable ;  and  when  I 
did  think  about  it,  I  lay  for  some  time  pondering  upon  the 
mystery  of  this  silence. 

At  length,  near  what  I  judged  to  be  the  midnight  hour, 
I  heard  a  slight  movement,  and  a  sound  like  the  parting 
of  a  thong.  Then,  for  a  few  minutes,  all  was  still,  when 
the  same  kind  of  noise  was  repeated. 

Could  it  be  that  my  strange  companion  was  breaking 
loose  from  ^his  bonds?  I  hoped  so,  yet  feared  to  ask, 
even  in  a  whisper,  lest  I  should  be  heard  by  the  sentry  at 
the  door,  and,  by  attracting  his  attention,  peradventure 
spoil  some  design  of  Langee. 
(142) 


ESCAPE  OF  LANGEE.  143 

Soon  after  this,  the  same  sounds  were  again  repeated ; 
and  then  I  fancied  I  heard  a  footstep  stealing  softly  away. 

For  perhaps  ten  minutes  after  this,  all  was  again  silent — 
then  I  was  startled  by  hearing  sounds  like  persons  strug- 
gling together  at  the  door.  There  was  no  outcry — but, 
instead,  a  smothered  groan,  a  fall  of  some  heavy  body, 
and  labored  breathing,  like  one  strangling.  This  gra- 
dually died  away  to  silence ;  and  though  I  laid  awake  all 
night,  listening  and  wondering,  and  pondering  upon  my 
own  hard  fate,  I  heard  nothing  more. 

The  night,  as  may  readily  be  believed,  was  to  me  one  of 
physical  and  mental  torture.  I  was  so  bound  that  I  could 
move  nothing  but  my  head ;  and  my  limbs  gradually  swel- 
ling, by  reason  of  the  tightness  of  my  cords,  the  ligatures 
became  deeply  buried  in  my  flesh,  and  for  a  long  time 
pained  me  exceedingly.  To  this  a  numbness  succeeded, 
scarcely  less  pleasant ;  and  for  hours  I  felt  as  if  portions 
of  me  were  dead. 

And  would  any  portion  of  me  be  living  when  the  sun  of 
to-morrow  should  set  ?  I  asked  myself ;  and  the  awful  idea 
that  I  might  then  be  in  the  Spirit  Land,  made  the  blood, 
where  it  did  circulate,  seem  to  run  cold  in  my  veins. 

Daylight  came  at  last ;  and  with  the  first  ray  that  pene- 
trated my  prison-house,  I  turned  my  eyes  to  the  spot 
where  I  had  last  seen  the  Hermit.  As  I  had  anticipated, 
he  was  no  longer  there.  He  had  escaped  ;  and  the  sounds 
I  had  heard  at  the  door,  were  doubtless  his  struggles  with 
the  sentry,  whom  I  readily  conjectured  he  had  strangled. 

This  conjecture  seemed  confirmed,  when,  so  soon  as  it 
was  light  enough  to  see  around  the  building,  I  lifted  my 
head  from  the  earth,  and  beheld  a  dark  object  stretched 
across  the  doorway. 

But  how  had  Langee  got  away  ?  had  Dundenah  aided 
Lim  ?  and  what  bearing  would  his  escape  have  upon  my 


144  CLARA   MORELAND. 


own  fate  ?  were  mental  questions  to  which  I  could  append 
no  answers.  Strange,  too,  I  thought,  if  he  were  friendly 
disposed  toward  me,  as  his  words  all  along  had  implied, 
that,  after  making  his  way  clear,  hy  killing  the  sentry,  he 
had  not  returned  to  set  me  free  also,  which  he  might  then 
have  done  with  little  or  no  risk. 

But  had  he  really  escaped  ?  and  if  so,  for  what  purpose  ? 
and  would  he  seek  to  make  his  way  to  a  white  settlement, 
and  spread  the  news  of  our  captivity  ?  or  would  he  return 
to  his  hermit  life,  and  bury  all  other  thoughts  in  those  of 
self? 

While  thus  mentally  occupied,  I  chanced  to  espy,  by  the 
increasing  light,  some  marks  upon  the  hard,  well-trodden 
earth  where  Langee  had  lain.  I  f^^ncied  they  took  a  sys- 
tematic shape  ;  and  raising  my  head,  I  was  both  surpVised 
and  rejoiced  to  perceive  that  a  finger  had  traced  on  the 
ground,  in  large  letters,  the  single  word  : 

"Hope!" 

He  had  not  forgotten  me  then,  and  had  left  this  as  a 
token  that  I  must  not  despair ;  though  why  he  had  not 
communicated  something  of  his  design  to  me,  after  over- 
powering the  guard,  which  he  might  have  done  so  easily, 
Was  still  a  mystery  I  could  not  solve. 

It  was  with  no  little  anxiety  I  listened  for  the  sound  of 
approaching  footsteps,  and  strove  to  conjecture  what  would 
be  the  conduct  of  the  savages,  when  they  should  find  one 
of  their  party  killed,  and  one  of  their  prisoners  escaped. 

At  length  some  one  came  to  the  door,  and  was  about  to 
enter  ;  but  started  back  on  seeing  his  prostrate  companion, 
and,  uttering  an  Indian  ejaculation,  stooped  down  to  exa- 
mine him.  The  next  moment  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
with  a  wild,  shrill,  prolonged  whoop,  disappeared. 

This  alarm-cry  was  quickly  answered  by  a  dozen  throats ; 
and  immediately  after  a  number  of  savages  came  rushing 


ESCAPE   OF   LANGEE.  145 


into  the  building  ;  and  while  some  stopped  at  the  door  to 
examine  their  dead  comrade,  the  others  directed  their 
steps  to  me,  with  fierce  looks  and  menacing  gestures. 

I  thought  mj  time  had  now  surely  como — for  in  their 
rage  I  believed  they  would  kill  me — and  commending  my 
Boul  to  God,  I  awaited  the  result  with  all  the  fortitude  I 
could  summon. 

On  coming  up  to  me,  however,  and  finding  me  fast 
bound,  and  Langee  gone,  they  appeared  to  see  at  once 
that  I  had  had  no  hand  in  the  death  of  the  sentry,  or  the 
escape  of  the  Hermit ;  and  grouping  themselves  upon  the 
spot  where  the  latter  had  lain,  they  held  a  brief  consulta- 
tion among  themselves,  of  which  of  course  I  understood 
nothing. 

Then  turning  to  me,  they  uttered  the  word  "  Langee,*' 
in  a  deep,  guttural  tone,  and  made  signs  to  know  what  had 
become  of  him. 

I  shook  my  head,  the  only  part  of  me  I  could  move,  as 
a  sign  that  I  knew  nothing  about  him ;  and  muttering 
among  themselves,  and  fiercely  brandishing  their  toma- 
hawks, they  went  back  to  their  companions  at  the  door ; 
and  soon  the  whole  party  disappeared,  taking  the  corpse 
with  them. 

I  had  scarcely  been  left  to  myself,  when  Kenneloo  came 
stalking  into  the  building,  followed  by  Dundenah. 

As  the  chief  drew  near  me,  I  could  perceive,  by  the 
fiery  gleam  of  his  black  eyes,  and  the  fierce  expression  of 
his  countenance,  that  he  was  in  no  amiable  mood.  There 
was  a  frown  upon  the  brow  of  Dundenah,  and  her  thin  lips 
were  compressed — but  the  general  aspect  of  her  features 
seemed  to  betoken  as  much  of  grief  as  of  anger. 

The  chief  halted  by  my  side,  and  fixing  his  snakey  eyes 
upon  my  face,  closely  watched  me  while  I  was  being 
interrogated  by  Dundenah. 

10  13 


146  CLARA   MORELAND. 

"Where  is  Langee?"  asked  the  latter. 

"  I  know  no  more  than  yourself,"  I  replied. 

"Did  he  tell  the  Dark-Eye  nothing  before  he  left?" 

"Nothing — not  a  word  passed  between  us." 

"But  the  Dark-Eye  knows  when  he  escaped?" 

I  narrated  to  her  what  I  had  heard  in  the  middle  of  tho 
night. 

"  And  this  is  all  the  Dark-Eye  knows  ?" 

"All,  I  assure  you." 

Dundenah  translated  my  answers  to  her  father;  who 
replied  in  a  fierce,  angry  tone ;  and  glaring  upon  me,  more 
like  some  savage  beast  than  a  human  being,  he  immediately 
quitted  the  Council  House. 

"  This  is  most  unfortunate,"  said  Dundenah,  in  what 
seemed  a  dispirited  tone;  "and  the  Dark-Eye,  I  fear, 
will  have  to  suffer  for  the  baseness  of  Langee." 

"  How  so  ?"  I  inquired :  "  It  is  easily  seen  that  I  am 
not  to  blame  for  what  he  did." 

"  But  who  shall  stay  the  vengeance  of  the  "VYepecoolahs,"' 
she  pursued,  with  a  kind  of  poetical  wildness,  "  against 
him  who  is  of  the  race  of  him  who  has  broken  from  theif 
bondage  and  laid  one  of  their  race  low  ?  Can  the  Dark- 
Eye  stop  the  mountain  torrent  as  it  rushes  toward  the 
valley?  Like  the  mountain  torrent  is  the  rage  of  the 
Wepecoolahs  against  the  paleface  for  the  deeds  of  his 
brothers  !  They  have  counted  the  moccasins  that  went  on 
the  warpath  and  came  back  no  more ;  and  while  the  death 
wail  is  fresh  in  the  lodges  of  the  fallen  braves,  a  new  wail 
is  heard  for  a  son  and  a  brother  slain  within  the  sacred 
limits  of  their  Council  House,  by  the  hand  of  one  whose 
language  is  that  of  the  Dark-Eye,  and  the  hue  of  whose 
skin  proclaims  him  of  the  same  hated  race !  Who  shall 
dare  step  between  them  and  the  victim  of  their  wrath? 
Who  has  power  to  do  it  and  live  ?" 


ESCAPE  OF  LANGEE.  147 

"  I  understand  you,  Dundenah,"  I  said,  as  she  paused 
and  fixed  her  gaze,  with  a  kind  of  mournful  solemnity, 
upon  my  features :  "  I  understand  you.  Whatever  hope 
your  previous  language  gave  me,  that  you  might  in  some 
way  avert  my  awful  doom,  I  now  give  over,  and  pray  God 
to  aid  me  to  die  with  fortitude,  forgiving  those  who  do  me 
this  wrong  because  of  my  race,  and  not  because  I  have 
ever  done  an  injury  unto  them." 

"Is  it  not  hard  for  the  Dark-Eye — so  young — to  say 
farewell  to  sun,  and  moon,  and  stars,  and  earth,  forever  ?'* 
inquired  my  singular  companion. 

"Yes,  Dundenah — to  say  nothing  of  my  friends,  who 
peradventure  will  never  learn  my  fate — or  learn  it  to  shed 
more  bitter  tears  than  at  the  uncertainty  in  which  it  was 
previously  involved." 

"  The  curse  of  Wandewah  be  upon  Langee  for  what  he 
has  done !"  she  cried,  vehemently,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"And  yet  you  cannot  blame  him,'*  I  replied,  "for 
seeking  hfe  and  liberty — and,  above  all,  escape  from  such 
painful  bonds  as  these." 

"  Can  the  Dark-Eye  excuse  him,  when  he  left  him  to 
suffer  the  consequences  of  his  selfishness?"  asked  my 
companion,  quickly. 

"  I  blame  him  not  for  embracing  the  means  of  escape 
which  Providence  seems  to  have  given  him,"  I  answered. 
"  Could  I  have  got  away,  I  should  not  be  here  now." 

"And  were  the  Dark-Eye  free,  and  his  companion  in 
bondage,  would  he  leave  him  so,  when  he  could  set  him  at 
liberty  with  no  risk  to  himself?" 

"No,  I  certainly  would  not." 

"  Then  the  curse  of  Wandewah  be  upon  Langee  for  his 
inhumanity  and  selfishness !"  she  again  cried,  with  lofty 
scorn. 


148  CLARA  MORELAND. 

"  Shall  I  infer  from  this,  that  Dundenah  would  have  me 
free?"  I  inquired. 

"  Dundenah  would  have  the  Dark-Eye  free,  but  his 
home  among  the  Wepecoolahs." 

"  Have  me  live  among  the  enemies  of  my  race  ?  No, 
no— that  can  never  be." 

"But  Dundenah  would  have  the  Dark-Eye  and  the 
Wepecoolahs  as  brothers." 

"As  well  ask  the  fawn  and  the  tiger  to  be  playmates," 
I  rejoined.  "  No,  no,  Dundenah — I  thank  you  sincerely 
for  the  interest  you  have  manifested  in  my  fate — but  what 
you  wish  can  never  be.  Between  the  Wepecoolahs  and 
myself  there  can  be  no  affinity — for  we  differ  so  much  in 
manners,  customs,  thoughts,  and  feelings,  that  what  would 
delight  them,  would  probably  prove  an  annoyance,  not  to 
say  an  abhorrence,  to  me.  But,  Dundenah,  I  am  suffering 
much  from  the  manner  in  which  I  am  bound — is  it  neces- 
sary that  I  should  continue  in  this  position,  with  these 
thongs  cutting  into  my  flesh?" 

"It  is  usual  for  captives  condemned  to  the  torture,  to 
remain  so  bound  till  taken  hence,"  she  replied ;  "but  the 
Dark  Eye  shall  suffer  thus  no  longer,  be  the  consequences 
what  they  may." 

Saying  this,  she  took  a  knife  from  her  girdle,  and 
severed  the  ligatures;  but  I  was  so  benumbed,  that  for 
several  minutes  I  could  make  no  use  of  my  limbs. 

"  I  thank  you,  Dundenah,  for  your  kindness,"  I  said,  in 
a  voice  of  emotion,  while  teara  involuntarily  started  to  my 
eyes. 

For,  placed  as  I  was  among  savages,  condemned  to  death, 
with  no  friend  by  to  pity  or  condole  with  me,  such  an  act 
of  mercy,  trifling  as  it  may  seem  to  others,  touched  me  to 
the  heart ;  and  for  the  time  1  was  almost  wrought  upon  to 


ESCAPE  OF  LANGEE.  149 

regard  my  beautiful  companion  as  a  ministering  angel,  sent 
for  my  deliverance. 

My  language,  the  tone  in  which  it  was  spoken,  and  the 
look  which  accompanied  it,  seemed  to  touch  the  feelings  of 
Dutidenah  ;  for  she  turned  aside  her  head,  and  it  was  some 
moments  ere  I  again  had  a  full  view  of  her  features. 

I  have  mistaken  her,  I  thought  to  myself ;  she  is  not  the 
stony-hearted,  cold-blooded  creature  I  have  been  led  to  es- 
teem her;  beneath  her  proud,  chilling,  haughty  exterior 
beats  a  warm,  affectionate  heart ;  and  now,  while  that  heart 
is  stirred  by  gentle  feelings,  I  will  question  her  concerning 
Clara. 

Accordingly,  throwing  much  feeling  into  my  voice,  I 
said : 

"  Since  the  Leaping  Fawn  has  been  so  kind  as  to  free 
mo  of  much,  bodily  pain,  will  she  not  continue  her  kindness 
by  relieving  my  mental  anxiety  concerning  my  companion 
in  misfortune  ?" 

She  turned  quickly  upon  me,  and  her  black  eyes  remained 
fixed  upon  mine  for  some  time,  with  an  expression  so  pecu- 
liar that  I  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  workings  of  her 
mind. 

"  What  would  the  Dark-Eye  know  ?"  she  at  length  in- 
quired, in  a  quiet  tone. 

"  I  would  know  what  has  become  of  the  gentle  maiden 
who  was  taken  prisoner  with  myself?" 

"  If  the  Dark-Eye  lives  to  see  the  sun  go  down,  he  shall 
be  answered,"  she  replied ;  and  abruptly  turning  away 
from  me,  she  quitted  the  building. 

What  means  this  mystery  ?  I  asked  myself. 

But  I  could  not  solve  the  riddle. 


13* 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  STAKE. 

Foe  perhaps  an  hour  after  Dundenah  left  me,  no  parti- 
cular notice  was  taken  of  me,  although  the  savages  passed 
in  and  out,  and  appeared  to  consult  together  in  small 
groups.  At  last  a  fierce,  hideous-looking  warrior  ap- 
proached me,  and  made  signs  that  I  should  rise  and  follow 
him — for  though  feeling  had  returned  to  mj  limbs,  and  I 
was  at  liberty  to  walk  about,  I  was  in  reality  so  much  ex- 
hausted for  want  of  rest  and  food,  that  I  had  only  used 
my  freedom  to  raise  myself  to  a  sitting  posture. 

I  obeyed  the  Indian,  and  he  led  me  out  of  the  Council 
House. 

The  first  sight  that  greeted  my  eyes,  as  I  passed  through 
the  doorway,  was  a  large  crowd  of  both  sexes — consisting 
of  warriors,  squaws,  children,  and  pappooses — grouped 
around  a  stake  driven  firmly  into  the  earth,  some  twenty 
paces  in  front  of  Kenneloo's  lodge,  and  about  central  way 
of  the  area  formed  by  the  encircling  huts. 

The  moment  this  motley  assemblage  caught  sight  of  me, 
they  all  left  the  stake,  and  at  once  surrounding  me,  set  up 
such  a  series  of  frightful  yells,  that  I  have  only  to  think  of 
them  now  to  fancy  they  are  still  sounding  in  my  ears  like 
the  orgies  of  demons. 

Mingling  in  this  crowd  were  the  Soolepcooms,  already 
mentioned  as  being  the  female  drudges  of  the  tribe,  gen- 
erally selected  for  this  purpose  from  their  intellectual  in- 
feriority, and  consequently  the  lowest  order  in  the  savage 
(150^ 


THE   STAKE.  151 


scale  of  savages.  On  the  execution  of  a  prisoner,  these 
she  wolves  are  permitted  to  join  their  superiors  and  exer- 
cise their  hellish  invention  in  the  way  of  insulting  and  tor- 
turing the  victim ;  and  as  this  is  a  rare  holiday  for  the 
urtbridled  license  of  their  pJissions,  they  fail  not  to  make 
the  most  of  it  in  a  way  becoming  to  their  degraded  and 
brutal  condition. 

If,  as  has  been  asserted,  there  is  a  connecting  link  be- 
tween man  and  beast — between  human  beings  and  angels 
— then  may  we  also  look  for  a  connecting  link  between 
flesh  and  blood  and  demons;  and  I  can  conceive  of 
nothing  more  nearly  approaching  this  last  than  the  Squaw- 
workers  of  the  Wepecoolahs. 

They  were  the  first  to  press  upon  me ;  and  being  aban- 
doned to  them  by  my  conductor,  they  immediately  formed 
a  close  circle  around  me,  and  began  a  wild  dance,  which  I 
can  liken  to  nothing  earthly — while  their  still  wilder 
screeches  and  yells  made  my  very  blood  run  cold.  I 
looksd  beyond  them,  to  the  crowd  outside,  in  the  hope  of 
catching  the  eye  of  Dundenah,  or  of  beholding  one  face 
having  the  least  expression  of  sympathy  for  my  fate ;  but 
I  was  disappointed ;  for  the  Leaping  Fawn  was  not  among 
them — and  every  look  directed  toward  me  was  savage  and 
revengeful. 

All  appeared  to  regard  me  as  the  victim  on  whom  they 
were  to  vent  their  rage  for  the  loss  the  tribe  had  sustained 
in  their  vindictive  expedition  against  my  countrymen,  and 
also  for  the  death  of  the  warrior  slain  by  Langee.  Even 
the  children  took  deep  interest  in  the  hellish  sport  already 
begun,  and  laughed,  and  clapped  their  little  hands  with 
savage  delight,  or  glared  upon  me  with  eyes  scarcely  less 
fierce  in  expression  than  those  of  their  older  companions. 

For  a  few  minutes  the  Soolepcooms  danced  around  me 
in  the  manner  related — thrusting  their  filthy  and  hideous 


152  CLARA  MORELAND. 

faces,  with  their  blood-shot  eyes,  close  to  mine — and  then 
they  began  to  inflict  the  first  degrees  of  those  tortures 
which  the  Council  of  the  Wepecoolahs  had  sentenced  me 
to  undergo. 

They  commenced  their  personal  inflictions  by  pinching 
me,  biting  me,  and  striking  me  in  the  face  and  on  the 
body  with  their  hands,  fists,  and  sticks. 

I  bore  this  for  some  time,  with  what  patience  I  could, 
knowing  that  resistance  were  in  vain ;  but  at  last,  stung  to 
madness,  and  my  limbs  being  free,  I  determined  to  make 
what  use  of  them  I  could,  hoping  that,  out  of  impulsive 
revenge,  some  one  would  put  me  out  of  my  misery,  by 
dispatching  rh.e  at  once. 

I  therefore  struck  a  posture  of  defence,  and  commenced 
knocking  down  all  who  got  within  the  reach  of  my  arm  ; 
but  this  so  far  from  producing  the  consequence  I  desired 
and  expected,  only  added  to  the  amusement ;  and  my 
pugilistic  display  was  greeted  with  screams  and  yells  of 
laughter  by  the  greater  portion  of  the  crowd,  who  kept  at 
a  safe  distance  from  my  blows,  and  seemed  to  urge  the 
Soolepcooms  (who,  as  I  said  before,  formed  the  inner 
circle)  to  retaliate  in  a  becoming  manner. 

These  latter — several  of  whom  had  already  felt  the 
weight  of  my  clenched  hands,  and  showed  it  in  bruised 
and  bloody  faces — now  fairly  screeched  with  rage ;  and, 
drawing  their  knives,  they  at  once  pressed  upon  me,  and 
began  to  prick  and  cut  me  on  all  sides — ever  taking  care, 
though,  not  to  inflict  a  mortal  wound — well  knowing  that 
to  kill  me  was  the  very  poorest  revenge  they  could  have. 

Finding  I  could  efiect  nothing  with  my  blows,  I  now 
endeavored  to  rush  through  the  crowd — not  with  any 
expectation  of  escape — but  merely  because  I  knew  not 
what  better  to  do  with  myself ;  but  every  where  I  turned, 
these  she-wolves,  as  if  anticipating  my  design,  gathered 


THE   STAKE.  153 


thickest ;  and  a  dozen  sharp  blade6  were  continually  lace 
rating  my  legs,  hands,  arms,  breast  and  face,  till  I  was 
literally  covered  with  blood  from  head  to  foot ;  while  the 
spectators  laughed   loudly,  and  cheered  on  my  inhuman 
tormentors. 

At  last,  goaded  to  desperation,  like  a  wild  beast  at  bay, 
I  watched  my  opportunity,  and  suddenly  pouncing  upon 
an  old  hag,  I  wrenched  the  weapon  from  her  grasp,  drove 
it  up  to  the  haft  in  her  naked  breast,  and  hurled  her  back 
upon  her  diabolical  companions,  greatly  to  their  astonish- 
ment, rage,  and  dismay.  I  was  now  armed  as  well  as  them- 
selves ;  and  fiercely  brandishing  my  knife,  I  caused  them 
to  fall  back,  till  I  had  cleared  a  circle  around  me  beyond 
the  reach  of  my  arm,  within  which  the  old  hag  I  had 
struck  down  lay  weltering  in  her  gore,  "v^hether  living  or 
dead  I  neither  knew  nor  cared. 

Finding  that  I  was  now  sufficiently  armed  and  'despe- 
rate to  keep  the  Squaw-workers  at  bay — and  fearful,  I 
suppose,  that  I  might  either  kill  myself  or  some  of  their 
number — several  of  the  warriors,  who  had  been  looking  on 
and  enjoying  the  sport,  now  thought  it  time  to  interfere. 

As  I  saw  them  approaching  to  overpower  and  disarm 
me,  and  thought  of  the  dreadful  fate  to  which  I  was 
doomed,  I  raised  my  arm,  with  the  intention  of  burying 
the  knife  in  my  heart ;  but  I  remembered  the  words  of  the 
Holy  Book,  which  denounce  eternal  woe  upon  the  self-mur- 
derer, and  reflected  that  it  might  be  better  for  me  here- 
after to  bear  more  worldly  pain,  and  go  into  the  presence 
of  my  God  and  Judge  by  other  hands  than  my  own.  I 
therefore  uttered  a  mental  prayer  to  the  Almighty  for 
mercy,  and  aid  to  sustain  me  through  my  awful  trials,  and 
lowered  my  arm,  resolved  to  be  taken  without  further 
struggle. 

The  warriors  consequently  came  up,  took  the  knife  from 


154  CLARA  MORELAND. 


my  unresisting  hand,  and,  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  my 
daring  act,  bound  my  arms  behind  my  back.  I  was  now, 
of  course,  completely  at  their  mercy,  and  expected  the 
cowardly  attack  of  the  Soolepcooms  to  be  renewed ;  but 
the  men  held  a  short  consultation  among  themselves  ;  and 
coming  to  the  conclusion,  probably,  that  the  preliminary 
sport  had  lasted  long  enough,  they  led  me  away  to  the 


Encircling  this  stake,  at  a  distance  of  several  feet  from 
it,  was  a  pile  of  fagots  ;  and  attached  to  the  stake  was  a 
rope  of  skin,  which,  when  fastened  to  the  ligature  that 
bound  my  arms  behind  me,  would  allow  me  to  approach 
within  two  feet  of  the  fuel — but  no  nearer.  I  now  com- 
prehended the  diabolical  design — which  was  to  set  fire 
to  the  combustibles,  and  cause  me  to  literally  roast  alive 
by  degrees — for  I  could  not  approach  near  enough  to  the 
flame  to  terminate  my  sufferings  speedily. 

When  arrived  within  the  circle  of  fagots,  the  warriors 
loosened  my  cords,  stripped  all  of  my  upper  garments 
from  my  lacerated  body,  and  then  rebinding  my  arms  as 
before,  fastened  the  rope  of  the  stake  to  the  ligature, 
leaving  me  just  so  much  play  as  I  have  mentioned. 

All  now  being  ready  for  the  last  horrible  proceeding, 
which  was  to  pass  me  from  time  to  eternity,  the  spectators 
formed  themselves  into  a  large  circle,  so  that  all  could  get 
a  view  of  their  victim,  and  set  up  a.  series  of  demoniacal 
yells,  which,  as  they  continued  them  for  some  time,  with- 
out any  action  on  their  part  toward  firing  the  combus- 
tibles, I  took  to  be  the  signal  for  the  chief  to  make  his 
appearance. 

This  idea  was  confirmed,  when,  a  short  time  after,  I 
saw  Kenneloo  come  stalking  from  his  cabin,  his  repulsive 
features  wearing  a  look  of  savage  triumph  and  satisfaction. 

I  had  all  along  believed,  that  when  the  chief  appeared, 


THE   STAKE.  155 


he  would  be  accompanied  by  Dundenah  ;  but  the  latter 
was  no  where  to  be  seen ;  and  under  the  impression  that 
her  design  of  saving  me — if,  in  fact,  she  had  seriously  en- 
tertained one — had  failed,  and  that  she  did  not  wish  to  see 
me  die,  I  now  resigned  the  last  faint  hope  that  had  lin- 
gered, like  a  flickering,  dying  flame  in  my  breast,  and  em- 
ployed my  moments  in  silently  commending  my  soul  to 
its  Maker. 

The  chief  of  the  Wepecoolahs  came  within  the  circle  of 
spectators,  drew  close  td  the  circle  of  fagots,  deliberately 
folded  his  arms  on  hw  brawny  chest,  fixed  his  black  eyes 
upon  me,  and  regarded  me  for  some  moments  with  a  grim 
smile  of  satisfaction.  Then  stepping  slowly  backward  to 
the  others,  he  waved  his  arm,  as  a  signal  to  fire  the  com- 
bustibles. 

An  old,  withered,  toothless,  filthy  crone — who,  from  her 
diabolical  appearance,  seemed  fit  to  serve  Satan  as  execu- 
tioner, should  the  arch-fiend  ever  need  one — now  entered 
the  circle  of  .spectators  from  without,  bearing  in  one  long, 
skinny  hand  a  burning  brand.  Instead  of  placing  this  at 
once  to  the  fagots,  however,  as  I  had  expected  to  see  her 
do,  she  stepped  over  them,  came  close  up  to  me,  fixed  her 
hollow,  bleared  eyes  upon  mine,  and,  with  a  grin,  which 
the  devil  himself  might  have  envied,  suddenly  thrust  the 
brand  against  my  naked  body. 

I  of  course  started  back,  and  involuntarily  uttered  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain. 

At  this  the  spectators  set  up  a  shout  of  laughter  ;  and 
the  old  hag  chuckled  and  cackled  in  concert,  till  she  was 
seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing,  which  I  hoped  and 
prayed  might  terminate  her  existence. 

As  soon  as  this  was  over,  she  straightened  herself  up  as 
well  as  she  could,  and  again  approached  me,  with  the 
intention  of  repeating  the  brutal  act  and  creating'  fresh 


156  CLARA  MOItELAND. 

mirth;  but  now  I  at  least  knew  her  design,  and  deter- 
mined to  punish  her  with  a  severity  that  would  at  once  put 
a  check  to  her  own  merriment,  and  give  her  cause  to 
remember  me  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  Retreating  a  pace 
or  two,  therisfore,  as  she  advanced  upon  me,  I  suddenly 
raised  one  foot,  and  striking  her  full  in  the  breast  with  it, 
hurled  her  back  upon  the  fagots,  over  which  she  fell;  and 
her  head  striking  upon  the  hard  earth,  she  lay  motionless, 
like  one  dead. 

This  second  daring  act  of  mine  was  greeted  with  yells 
of  every  description — but  whether  of  mirth  or  rage  I  was 
unable  to  tell — though  I  think  it  not  improbable  there  was 
a  mingling  of  both.  Some  of  the  women  stepped  forward, 
picked  up  the  old  hag,  and  bore  her  away  in  a  senseless 
condition ;  while  another  of  their  number  seized  the  brand, 
which  had  fallen  from  her  hand  hard  by,  and  at  once 
thrust  it  among  the  combustibles. 

These  combustibles,  many  of  which  were  resinous  pine, 
splintered  fine,  and  dry  as  tinder,  quickly  ignited ;  and  as 
the  flame  rose,  it  spread  away  to  the  right  and  left  along 
the  encircling  pile.  This  was  the  signal  for  the  renewal 
of  savage  yells ;  but  unmindful  of  these  now,  I  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  the  fire,  and  my  thoughts  upon  that  dread  eter- 
nity to  which  I  was  fast  hastening. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly  down 
through  a  clear,  cloudless  atmosphere ;  but  it  shone  not  for 
me,  who  had  Ibidden  a  mental  adieu  to  all  I  had  ever  seen 
or  known,  and  was  now  preparing  my  spirit,  by  silent 
prayer,  for  its  eternal  flight. 

Suddenly  I  was  startled  from  my  meditations  by  a 
shrill,  piercing  scream  ;  and  as  I  looked  around,  a  female 
burst  through  the  ring  of  spectators,  who  seemed  as  much 
astonished  as  myself,  rushed  straight  toward  me,  leaped 


THE   STAKE.  157 


over  the  fagots,  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck,  and 
exclaimed : 

"  Henry  !  dear,  dear  Henry  !  we  meet  again  to  part  no 
more — I  have  come  to  die  with  you." 

How  shall  I  convey  to  the  reader  the  unbounded  asto- 
nishment I  felt,  as  these  words,  in  thrilling  tones,  fell  upon 
my  ear  from  the  lips  of  the  lovely  Clara  Moreland  ?  It 
was  like  the  voice  of  one  from  the  dead — it  was  like  the 
apparition  of  one  from  the  grave — so  suddenly  were  my 
senses  of  hearing,  seeing,  and  feeling,  greeted  by  one  I 
never  thought  to  meet  again  on  earth — never  thought  to 
look  upon  again  with  mortal  eyes ;  and  but  for  the  weight 
pressing  against  me,  as  she  hung,  half -fainting,  around  my 
neck,  I  might  still  have  been  tempted  to  believe  that  all 
was  unreal,  the  fantasy  of  a  feverish  brain. 

Till  Clara  spoke  I  had  not  recognized  her ;  and  no  won- 
der ;  for  her  own  habiliments  had  been  taken  from  her, 
and  she  was  now  costumed  much  like  Dundenah,  with  her 
long  sunny  hair  braided  in  the  same  Gipsey  style.  I  at 
once  comprehended  that  she  had  been  adopted  into  the 
tribe — but  for  some  moments  my  emotions  were  too  great 
for  utterance. 

"Whence  come  you,  dear  Clara,  at  this  awful  mo- 
ment?" I  at  length  articulated. 

"From  the  lodge  of  the  chief,  to  die  with  you,"  she 
said,  hurriedly.  "  They  have  kept  me  a  close  prisoner ; 
they  would  not  let  me  see  you ;  but  I  heard  their  awful 
yells,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  your  person  as  they 
dragged  you  away  ;  and  with  superhuman  strength  I  tried 
my  bonds;  and  here  I  am,  to  die  with  you." 

At  this  moment  Kenneloo  and  two  or  three  of  his  war- 
riors came  up  to  separate  us.  Seizing  Clara  roughly  by 
^he  arm,  the  chief  made  angry  signs  to  her  to  begone. 

"No!  no!  no!"  cried   Clara,  wildly,  clinging  to  my 

14 


158  CLARA   MORELAND. 

neck :  "  you  shall  not  part  ns  !  you  shall  not  part  us  !  I 
have  come  to  die  with  him  !" 

I  could  do  nothing  to  assist  the  poor  girl,  for  my  hands 
were  bound  behind  my  back ;  and  the  next  moment  her 
arms  were  violently  torn  from  around  my  neck,  and,  with 
a  buffet  in  the  face,  from  the  hand  of  the  chief,  she  stag- 
gered and  fell  to  the  ground. 

Oh !  in  that  awful  moment,  had  the  arch  fiend  of  hell 
appeared  to  offer  me  vengeance  upon  the  inhuman  monster 
before  me,  I  fear,  in  my  excited  state  of  mind,  I  should 
have  purchased  it  at  any  price.  What  were  the  physical 
sufferings  and  tortures  I  had  undergone,  and  was  to 
undergo,  compared  to  the  mental  torture  of  seeing  her  I 
loved,  beyond  self  or  every  thing  earthly,  struck  down  in 
that  unfeeling,  brutal  manner  ?  But  I  was  powerless — I 
could  do  nothing — and  I  fairly  gnashed  my  teeth  in  impo- 
tent rage,  and  invoked  the  curse  of  Heaven  upon  the  dia- 
bolical chief  and  his  infernal  followers. 

Perceiving  that  any  pain  inflicted  upon  Clara  would 
cause  me  to  suffer  more  than  if  done  to  myself,  Kenneloo 
assisted  her  to  rise ;  and  then  turning  upon  me  a  grim, 
malignant  smile,  he  grasped  her  arm  in  such  a  way  as 
to  force  from  her  a  piercing  scream ;  and  then  another, 
and  another — till  I  was  so  overcome  with  conflicting  emo- 
tions, that  I  felt  as  if  my  brain  wxre  on  fire,  and  fancied 
that  my  reason  was  leaving  me. 

How  long  this  might  have  continued,  I  know  not ;  but 
suddenly  Dundenah  made  her  appearance,  accompanied  by 
a  squaw  of  rather  better  appearance  than  the  generality 
of  the  females  of  the  tribe.  She  advanced  straight  to  her 
father,  and,  with  fierce  gestures  and  flashing  eyes,  ad- 
dressed him  in  his  native  tongue.  Instantly  he  released 
his  hold  on  Clara ;  when,  turning  to  her,  Dundenah  ex- 
claimed, in  English : 


THE   STAKE.  159 


"  How  is  it  that  Dundenah  finds  the  Blue-Eye  here, 
when  she  bade  her  remain  in  the  lodge  of  the  chief?" 

"  I  came  to  die  with  my  companion  in  captivity,"  re- 
plied Clara,  bursting  into  tears. 

This  seemed  to  touch  the  feelings  of  Dundenah — for  she 
said,  in  a  milder  tone  : 

"  The  Blue-Eye  is  as  a  child,  and  knows  not  what  is 
for  her  own  good.  Return  to  the  lodge,  and  await  my 
coming." 

"  No,  no,  Dundenah — since  he  must  die,  rather  let  me 
suffer  with  him — for  I  have  no  desire  to  live  any  longer." 

"Away!"  cried  Dundenah,  fiercely,  stamping  her  foot: 
"  Begone !  and  do  my  bidding !  or,  by  the  spirits  of  the 
slain !  the  Dark-Eye  shall  suffer  tenfold  for  this  disobe- 
dience !" 

"  Oh,  God !  have  mercy  on  me  and  on  him,  and  soften 
the  hearts  of  his  tormentors !"  cried  Clara,  wringing  her 
hands.  "  Farewell,  Henry,"  she  continued,  turning  to  me 
with  streaming  eyes :  "I  shall  soon  follow  you, and  we  may 
meet  in  Heaven.  Farewell!  farewell!"  and  with  a  burst 
of  anguish,  she  clasped  her  temples  with  her  hands,  and 
darted  away,  as  if  she  feared  to  trust  herself  longer  in  my 
presence. 

As  soon  as  Clara  was  out  of  sight,  Dundenah  addressed 
a  few  words  to  the  chief,  and  pointed  to  the  female  who 
had  accompanied  her.  Kenneloo  started,  and  instantly 
his  face  grew  still  more  hideous  with  rage;  and  fairly 
gnashing  his  teeth  in  fury,  he  drew  a  knife  from  his  belt, 
and  raised  it  as  if  to  strike  his  daughter. 

Dundenah  returned  him  a  look  of  stern,  haughty  defi- 
ance ;  and  throwing  back  her  body,  pointed  to  her  heart, 
and  seemed  to  dare  him  to  strike. 

Kenneloo  paused  ;  but  for  some  moments  kept  his  hand 
raised,  as  if  undetermined  whether  to  take  her  life  or  not ; 


160  CLARA   MORELAXn. 

while  the  spectators,  crowding  forward,  regarded  the  two 
in  breathless  silence,  none  caring  to  interfere  in  a  quarrel 
between  the  chief  and  his  child. 

Suddenly  Kenneloo  lowered  his  arm ;  and  stamping  his 
foot,  and  uttering  a  fierce  ejaculation,  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  strode  away,  all  eyes  following  him. 

Meantime  the  fire  had  kept  upon  its  devouring  course, 
and  had  already  reached  half-way  round  the  -circle — though 
by  retreating  the  length  of  my  rope,  to  the  other  side  of 
the  stake,  I  had  thus  far  avoided  any  suffering  from  the 
heat.  The  scene  I  have  described  between  Kenneloo  and 
Dundenah,  had  taken  place  within  a  few  feet  of  me ; 
and  as  the  former  disappeared,  the  latter  turned  to  me, 
and  for  several  moments  regarded  me  with  an  expression 
80  peculiar,  that  I  knew  not  how  to  interpret  it.  Then, 
methought,  as  her  eyes  ran  slowly  over  my  person, 
lacerated  and  bloody,  her  look  softened  to  something  like 
compassion. 

"The  Dark-Eye  has  been  roughly  handled,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  suffered  indignities  almost  unbearable,"  I 
replied,  in  a  dejected  tone. 

"  And  did  the  Dark-Eye  think  Dundenah  had  deserted 
him?" 

"  I  thought  that,  being  unable  to  save  my  life,  and  not 
wishing  to  see  me  suffer,  she  had  intentionally  kept  out  of 
sight,"  I  rejoined. 

"  And  why  should  the  Dark-Eye  think  that  the 
Leaping  Fawn  had  no  wish  to  see  him  undergo  the  tor- 
tures?" 

"Because  she  seems  more  like  one  of  my  race — has 
intelligence  and  refinement  far  beyond  those  of  her  com- 
panions— and  there  have,  at  times,  at  least  I  have  fancied 
so,  been  kindness  and  sympathy  expressed  in  her  looks, 
tones,  words,  and  manner." 


THE   STAKE.  161 


"  But,  withal,  the  Dark-Eye  thought  Dundenah  power- 
less to  save  him  V* 

"Even  so." 

"And  does  he  still  think  so?" 

"  I  know  not  your  power,  Dundenah,"  I  replied ;  "  hut 
I  know  that  unless  I  am  rescued  soon,  I  shall  soon  be 
beyond  the  help  of  any  thing  mortal.  See!  it  is  fast 
doing  its  work ;"  and  I  pointed  to  the  fire. 

"  But  will  not  do  it  so  fast  as  the  Dark-Eye  thinks," 
she  rejoined.  "It  is  true,  the  heat  may  become  oppres- 
sive, and  blister  the  flesh ;  but  it  would  take  hours  to 
deprive  the  Dark-Eye  of  life,  or  even  to  put  him  beyond 
feeling  pain.  No,  no — the  Indian  knows  too  well  what 
his  victim  can  bear ;  and  in  a  case  like  the  present,  he  is 
ever  careful  about  putting  him  too  suddenly  beyond  his 
reach." 

"  The  invention  is  worthy  of  such  a  race,"  I  said, 
bitterly. 

Dundenah  frowned,  bit  her  lips,  and  seemed  about  to 
make  ^n  angry  retort;  but  apparently  checked  herself, 
and  substituted : 

"  The  Dark-Eye  has  seen  his  companion  in  captivity  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  sighed  ;  "  but  I  would  she  were  dead." 

"How?"  cried  the  Indian  maiden,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  repeat,  I  would  she  were  dead !  since  I  know  in 
what  vile  manner  she  is  treated." 

The  dark  features  of  Dundenah  flushed  with  passion, 
and  her  eyes  gleamed  like  fire,  as,  drawing  herself  up  with 
a  haughtiness  I  have  never  seen  equalled,  she  rejoined : 

"  Has  the  pale-face  maiden  then  made  such  bitter  plaints 
to  the  Dark-Eye?" 

"No  need,"  I  said;  "my  own  eyes  were  witnesses  of 
the  brutality." 

"  And  what  did  the  eyes  of  the  Dark-Eye  behold  ?" 
11  14* 


162  CLARA  MORELAND. 


"I  saw  her  struck  down  by  the  bands  of  tbe  chief,  and 
afterward  so  roughly  handled  that  she  was  forced  to 
scream  for  pain." 

"But  had  she  obeyed  Dundenah,  this  had  not  hap- 
pened," was  the  quick  reply. 

"  And  were  she  dead,  it  would  not  be  repeated,"  said  I. 

"If  the  Dark-Eye  would  have  her  dead,  it  is  but  a 
moment's  work,"  rejoined  Dundenah;  and  her  features 
bore  such  a  strange,  wild  expression,  as  the  words  slowly 
passed  from  her  lips,  that  I  fairly  shrunk  from  her  gaze. 
"Would  the  Dark-Eye  have  her  dead,  and  live  himself?" 
she  continued,  after  a  long  pause,  her  eyes  still  rivetted 
upon  me. 

"  No !  no !  Dundenah :  if  I  were  to  live,  I  would  have 
her  live  also." 

"Then  is  the  Dark-Eye  selfish,"  she  said;  "hewoulo 
either  have  her  with  him  here  or  in  the  Spirit-Land." 

"It  is  even  so,  I  acknowledge — self  governs  us  all,  in 
a  greater  or  less  degree." 

"But  if  the  Blue-Eye  must  live,  would  the  Dark-Eye 
live  also?" 

"Yes — for  life  is  sweet,  and  nature  shrinks  from 
death." 

"Would  the  Dark-Eye  consent  to  become  an  Indian, 
even  as  those  he  sees  around  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  would  accept  life  even  on  such  conditions,"  I 
replied,  "provided  I  could  be  allowed  to  meet  my  com- 
panion occasionally,  and  cheer  her  drooping  spirits." 

"  It  sounds  strange  in  the  ears  of  Dundenah  to  hear  a 
prisoner  fix  the  terms  on  which  he  will  accept  his  own 
life,"  rejoined  the  maiden,  with  something  like  irony. 
"  But  Dundenah  led  the  Dark-Eye  to  hope  that  she  would 
make  an  effort  to  save  him,  if  he  followed  her  counsel ;  and 
she  is  here  to  make  her  word  good,  even  at  the  peril  of 


THE   SJAKE.  163 


her  life.  By  a  law  of  the  Wepecoolahs,  a  mother,  who  has 
lost  an  only  son,  can  replace  him  by  adopting  a  prisoner 
who  has  been  condemned  by  Council,  and  around  whom 
the  torture-fire  is  already  kindled ;  but  her  own  life  and 
another's  must  stand  pledged  for  his  good  behaviour ;  and 
if  he  prove  false,  one  or  both  of  his  liberators  must 
undergo  the  sentence  from  which  they  rescue  him.  This 
woman,  (pointing  to  the  one  who  had  accompanied  her)  is 
the  mother  of  a  brave  who  lost  his  life  in  the  last  expedi- 
tion of  the  Wepecoolahs  against  your  race ;  and  though 
revenge  is  sweet  to  an  Indian  mother,  yet  the  great 
Wandewah  has  so  softened  her  heart,  that  the  words  of  the 
Leaping  Fawn  have  prevailed  upon  her  to  save  the  Hfe  of 
the  Dark-Eye,  by  substituting  him* for  the  slain;  and  she 
whose  life  stands  pledged  with  hers  for  the  good  faith  of 
him  they  liberate,  is  the  daughter  of  Kenneloo." 

"Noble  Dundenah !"  cried  I,  as  she  ceased  speaking: 
"  how  have  I  wronged  you  in  thought !— but  if  I  live,  and 
it  is  ever  in  my  power,  I  will  convince  you  of  my  gratitude 
for  this  unselfish  act,  by  something  more  than  idle  words." 

"  Let  the  Dark-Eye  then  show  his  gratitude,  by  never 
seeking  to  escape  from  those  who  will  hfenceforth  call  him 
brother  and  son,"  she  said.  "  Remember  !"  she  continued, 
as  she  marked  the  change  in  my  countenance,  produced  by 
these  words — for  in  truth  the  idea  of  becoming  an  Indian, 
and  remaining  so,  was  so  revolting  to  my  feelings,  that,  but 
for  the  thought  that  I  might  be  able  to  protect  Clara  from 
insult  and  abuse,  I  think  I  should  have  preferred  death  to 
life  on  such  conditions  :  "  Remember !"  pursued  Dundenah 
— "  should  the  Dark-Eye  abuse  the  confidence  reposed  in 
him,  we  must  suffer  in  his  place !" 

"  Enough  !"  I  rejoined :  "  may  the  curse  of  Wandewah 
be  upon  me,  when  I  prove  so  base  a  wretch  as  treachcr- 


164  CLARA   MORELAND. 


ously  to  cause  my  generous  deliverers  to  take  my  place  at 
the  torture !" 

"  When  the  fire  encircles  the  stake,  the  Dark-Eye  shall 
be  free,  or  Dundenah  and  he  shall  together  seek  the  Spirit 
Land !"  returned  the  maiden,  in  a  tone  of  much  solemnity. 

"What  mean  you?"  I  inquired,  in  surprise. 

"As  yet  the  Wepecoolahs  know  not  that  they  are  about 
to  have  their  victim  snatched  from  them,"  she  replied; 
"and  there  is  no  saying  what  they  may  do  in  their  first 
burst  of  fury.  Let  the  Dark-Eye  be  firm  and  composed, 
and  trust  in  Wandewah  !" 

Saying  this,  she  withdrew  from  the  circle  of  fagots,  and, 
drawing  her  form  up  to  its  full  height,  began  to  address  the 
spectators,  who,  during  her  conversation  with  me,  had  been 
looking  on,  with  an  air  of  eager  curiosity,  but  evidently 
without  comprehending  a  sentence  that  had  passed 
between  us. 

I  of  course  understood  nothing  that  she  said  now ;  but  I 
watched  the  faces  of  the  crowd,  to  gain  from  their  .looks  an 
index  of  what  would  be  the  result  of  her  communication. 
The  first  prevailing  expression  was  that  of  surprise,  which 
was  succeeded  by  anger,  and  finally  by  rage  of  the  most 
diabolical  kind,  during  which  the  voice  of  Dundenah  was 
drowned  by  yells  of  fury,  while  knives  and  tomahawks 
■were  fiercely  brandished  with  menacing  gestures.  Dun- 
denah, proud  and  imperious  as  a  queen  on  her  throne, 
calmly  withstood  the  storm  of  passion ;  and  so  soon  as  she 
could  make  her  voice  heard,  again  proceeded.  Gradually 
the  loud  tumult  subsided  to  low,  deep  mutterings ;  and  the 
warriors,  collecting  together,  seemed  to  hold  a  consulta- 
tion ;  while  I  caught  many  an  eye  turned  upon  me,  with 
an  expression  that  boded  any  thing  but  safety  to  myself. 

Meantime  the  fire  had  completed  its  circuit;  and  the 
flames   now  roared  and  crackled  around  me ;  while  the 


THE   STAKE.  165 


hvat,  from  being  almost  suffocating,  now  began  to  burn 
and  blister  my  flesh,  rendering  my  position  at  the  stake,  to 
which  I  had  withdrawn  as  the  point  farthest  from  the 
blaze,  one  of  torture  almost  unbearable. 

Suddenly  the  lighi,  graceful  form  of  Dundenah  burst 
into  the  burning  circle,  and  the  next  moment  her  knife  had 
freed  me  from  my  bonds. 

"Follow  me!"  she  said;  "but  be  composed — be  pru- 
dent— for  even  now  the  life  of  the  Dark-Eye  hangs  in  the 
balance." 

It  may  readily  be  supposed  that  I  did  not  wait  for  a 
second  invitation  to  quit  my  place  of  torture,  even  though 
I  rushed  into  the  midst  of  an  assemblage  of  beings  all 
thirsting  for  my  heart's  blood,  or  a  punishment  still  more 
terrible. 

Dundenah  kept  close  to  my  side;  and  as  the  crowd 
pressed  around  us,  with  looks  of  savage  ferocity  and  baffled 
revenge,  she  waved  her  hand,  and  commanded  them 
back,  with  an  air  of  such  calm,  lofty  dignity,  such  proud 
superiority,  that  none  upon  whom  her  dark  eye  fell,  with 
its  piercing  glance  of  intellectual  fire,  seemed  willing  to 
brave  her  displeasure. 

Still  the  press  continued;  for  though  the  crowd  drew 
back  from  my  companion,  wherever  she  turned,  yet  no 
sooner  was  her  eye  off  of  them,  than  they  came  up  behind, 
with  menacing  looks  and  gestures.  The  most  ferocious  of 
the  assemblage,  were,  as  before,  the  Soolepcooms,  who 
glared  upon  me  like  so  many  wild  beasts,  and  seemed 
terribly  eager  to  revenge  themselves  upon  me,  both  for  the 
disappointment  of  their  hellish  gratification,  and  for  the 
loss  of  their  fiendish  companion,  who  had  fallen  by  my 
hand. 

I  kept  my  eye  upon  them  as  much  as  possible,  well 
knowing  that  they  only  sought  an  opportunity  to  take  me 


i66 


CLARA   MORELAND. 


unawares,  and  obtain  some  revenge  by  killing  me  on  the 
spot,  since  there  was  no  longer  a  prospect  of  my  under- 
going the  torture. 

Suddenly  I  felt  a  sharp  pain  in  my  side ;  and  uttering  a 
groan,  I  told  Dundenah  I  had  received  my  death-wound. 
Never  shall  I  forget  the  look  of  agonised  horror  which  she 
turned  upon  me — nor  the  expression  of  fiendish  rage  which 
the  next  moment  distorted  her  beautiful  features,  as  her 
eye  fell  upon  an  old  hag  close  by,  who  was  in  the  act  of 
brandishing  a  bloody  knife. 

With  a  yell  of  concentrated  fury,  which  I  can  liken  to 
nothing  earthly,  and  which  still  seems  to  be  ringing  in  my 
ear,  she  fairly  bounded  upon  the  aggressor;  and  in  less 
time  than  it  has  taken  me  to  record  the  fact,  she  buried 
her  own  knife  a  dozen  times  in  the  breast  of  the  assassin. 

I  saw  this,  but  no  more.  My  brain  reeled — the  earth 
turned  dark — all  objects  disappeared — and  I  fell  to  the 
ground  in  a  senseless  condition. 


CHAPTER     XIV. 


THE   RECOVERY. 


The  first  recollection  I  have  after  the  events  described 
in  the  foregoing  chapter,  I  opened  my  eyes  in  a  small 
cabin  or  hut,  constructed  of  sticks,  bark,  earth  and 
skins,  and  found  myself  lying  upon  a  mat  in  one  corner, 
with  a  few  skins  thrown  over  me  to  protect  me  from  the 
cold.  There  was  no  person  present ;  and  I  looked  around 
with  a  bewildered  air,  trying  to  recollect  where  I  was,  and 
what  had  happened.  Then  something  vague,  but  horrible, 
began  to  float  through  my  mind,  like  the  confused  remem- 
brance of  a  hideous  dream;  and  from  this  it  gradually 
took  the  form  of  reality ;  till,  one  by  one,  memory  placed 
before  me  the  incidents  which  are  already  known  to  the 
reader. 

I  recalled  to  mind  my  captivity,  and  all  that  had  fol- 
lowed, up  to  the  time  when  I  received  what  I  then  believed 
to  be  my  death-wound ;  and  this  led  me  to  try  and  feel 
the  nature  and  extent  of  that  wound. 

But  when  I  attempted  to  raise  my  arm  for  the  purpose, 
I  found  it  stiff  and  sore,  and  that  I  was  in  reality  almost 
as  weak  as  an  infant.  This  set  me  into  a  train  of  calcula- 
tion as  to  the  amount  of  time  which  had  elapsed  since  my 
hurt ;  but  I  soon  found  that  I  really  could  not  determine 
whether  I  had  remained  unconscious  an  hour,  a  day,  or  a 
week  ;  while  the  dressing  of  my  wounds,  though  in  a  rude 
way,  seemed  to  denote  that  my  heroic  deliverer  had  so 
far  triumphed  that  I  had  fallen  into  friendly  hands. 

(167) 


I 
168  CLARA    MORELAND. 

While  my  mind  was  thus  occupied,  a  female  entered 
the  hut ;  and  as  she  drew  near  me,  I  recognized  the  fea- 
tures of  the  mother  who*  had  accompanied  Dundenah  to 
adopt  me  as  her  son. 

It  was  no  pleasant  recollection,  that  fate  had  so  ordained 
it  that  I  must  henceforth  have  an  Indian  mother;  but 
since  it  was  to  be  so,  I  was  rejoiced  to  perceive  that  the 
features  of  my  new  parent  were  by  no  means  repulsive, 
and  that  she  at  least  had  a  clean  and  tidy  appearance. 

As  she  came  up,  I  fixed  my  eyes  upon  her,  and  inquired 
how  long  I  had  lain  there  ?  and  what  had  become  of  Dun- 
denah ? 

She  evidently  understood  nothing  but  the  name  of  the 
Leaping  Fawn  ;  but  she  looked  pleased  to  hear  me  speak ; 
and  pointing  to  the  door,  made  some  reply  in  the  guttural 
tone  peculiar  to  the  Indian  of  nearly  every  tribe. 

She  then  made  signs  that  she  would  call  Dundenah,  and 
immediately  went  out.  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned, 
and,  to  my  great  delight,  was  accompanied  by  the  object 
of  her  inquiry. 

The  step  and  bearing  of  Dundenah  were  still  as  grace- 
ful and  proud  as  ever ;  but  I  noticed  that  her  eye  had  lost 
its  fiery  fierceness  of  expression,  that  the  brown  hue  of 
her  cheeks  had  faded,  and  that  her  features  generally 
were  softened  by  a  shade  of  sadness  amounting  almost  to 
melancholy. 

These  changes,  though  they  added  the  charm  of  loveli- 
ness to  what  was  before  a  cold,  rigid  beauty,  I  was  not 
pleased  to  see — for  they  hetokened  sorrow  in  the  heart  of 
one,  who  had,  no  matter  from  what  motive,  generously  and 
heroically  perilled  her  life  to  save'  mine. 

As  she  came  up  to  my  side,  she  bent  down,  and  fixing 
her  dark  eyes  upon  mine,  gently  touched  my  hand  with 
hers,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling  : 


THE   RECOYERT.  169 


"  Does  the  Dark-Eye  know  Dundenah  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  and  may  I  cease  to  know  any 
thing,  when  I  forget  that  I  owe  my  life  to  your  noble 
conduct !" 

Tears  involuntarily  started  to  the  eyes  of  the  maiden ; 
and  bowing  her  face  upon  her  hands,  she  wept  for  the  first 
time  in  my  presence. 

I  was  deeply  moved  at  this  display  of  feeling ;  and  in  a 
gentle  tone,  I  asked  her  the  cause  of  her  sorrow:  but  she 
only  wept  the  more,  without  making  me  any  reply. 

At  last  she  raised  her  head,  and  looking  upward,  said, 
solemnly : 

"  Thanks  to  the  Great  Wandewah,  that  the  Dark-Eye 
is  restored  to  his  senses  !" 

"  And  how  long  have  I  been  unconscious  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Ten  suns  have  set  and  rose  since  the  knife  of  Ochlee 
pierced  the  side  of  the  Dark-Eye." 

I  could  hardly  credit  the  statement,  that  ten  days  had 
passed  since  I  had  been  rescued  from  the  tortures  of  the 
stake.  It  seemed  rather  like  a  horrible  dream — from 
which,  after  a  few  hours  of  troubled  sleep,  I  had  awakened 
— and  I  so  expressed  myself  to  my  companion. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  ten  weary  days  and  nights  has 
death  hung  over  the  Dark-Eye  ;  but  the  Great  Wandewah 
has  been  pleased  not  to  call  him  to  the  Spirit-Land." 

"And  where  is  the  Blue-Eye?"  I  inquired,  with  no 
little  anxiety.     "  I  trust  no  harm  has  befallen  her  ?" 

The  face  of  Dundenah  instantly  flushed  to  the  temples ; 
and  again  fixing  her  eyes  upon  me  with  one  of  those  pecu- 
liar expressions — which,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  I 
knew  not  how  to  interpret — she  said : 

"  Does  the  image  of  the  pale-faced  maiden  ever  dwell 
in  the  mind  of  the  Dark-Eye?" 

"  She  is  seldom  absent  from  my  thoughts,"  I  answered,  j 
15 


170  CLARA  MORELAND. 


Again  she  regarded  me,  for  a  few  moments,  "with  the 
same  singular  expression  of  countenance ;  and  then  slowly 
turned  aside  her  head,  with  what  I  fancied  was  a  sorrow- 
ful, melancholy  air. 

"  But  you  have  not  answered  my  question  concerning 
the  Blue-Eye  !"  I  persisted. 

"She  is  safe  and  well,"  was  her  reply. 

"  Thanks,  Dundenah,  for  this  cheering  news  !'*  I  re- 
joined.    "  Is  she  a  close  prisoner  ?" 

"  She  has  the  same  freedom  as  others  of  her  sex.  She 
has  long  been  a  member  of  the  tribe.*' 

"Has  she  ever  been  here  to  see  me?" 
*"  Daily." 

"  And  how  does  she  bear  herself?" 

"  She  weeps  when  with  the  Dark-Eye,  and  at  all  times 
seems  sad  and  dejected." 

"Poor  Clara!"  I  ejaculated:  "would  to  Heaven  she 
were  with  her  friends  !" 

"  Could  the  Dark-Eye  content  him  to  remain  with  the 
Wepecoolahs,  were  the  Blue-Eye  absent  ?"  inquired  Dun- 
denah, quickly. 

"  I  would  that  she  were  with  her  friends ;  and  I  know 
too  well  the  obligation  that  binds  me  here,  to  think  of 
accompanying  her,"  I  replied. 

"  There  are  many  who  will  promise  much  in  the  hour 
of  difficulty  and  danger,  and  forget  their  promise  when 
difficulty  and  danger  are  past,"  said  Dundenah. 

"  It  may  be  so,  Dundenah,  but  count  not  me  among 
their  number." 

"  And  the  Dark-Eye  would  have  his  companion  in  cap- 
tivity among  her  friends,  and  yet  himself  remain  with  the 
Wepecoolahs  ?" 

"Even  so.     But  can  she  be  sent* home?". 

"  It  is  far— very  far— to  the  home  of  the  Blue-Eye/' 


THE   RECOVERY.  17] 


said  my  companion,  reflectingly :  "  but  Kenneloo  is  power- 
ful  to  accomplish  his  will." 

"  And  who  can  so  plead  with  him  as  Dundenah  ?"  1 
rejoined,  with  a  ray  of  hope  that,  through  her,  I  might  yet 
accomplish  the  deliverance  of  Clara. 

"  But  if  Kenneloo  is  powerful  to  do  his  will,  he  is  also 
wilful  in  his  power,"  returned  Dundenah.  "He  will  be 
loth  to  give  up  a  prisoner ;  and  I  fear  his  daughter  might 
plead  to  him  in  vain." 

"But  you  will  try,  Dundenah?"  I  said,  watching  her 
countenance :  "  For  my  sake  !"  I  added,  a  few  moments 
afterward. 

*'  For  the  sake  of  the  Dark-Eye,  Dundenah  will  try," 
she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  earnest  simplicity,  turning  upon 
me  a  look  so  sweet  and  gentle,  that  I  could  hardly  realize 
she  was  the  same  cold,  proud,  haughty  being  I  had  first 
known  her. 

"  Thanks !  thanks !  a  thousand  thanks  for  your  kind- 
ness !"  I  rejoined,  in  a  tone  of  exhilaration.  "And  now 
will  you  render  my  obligation  to  you  still  greater,  by  let- 
ting me  see  the  Blue-Eye  at  once  ?" 

Dundenah  shook  her  head  gently. 

"The  Dark-Eye  is  too , weak  to-day,"  she  said — "he 
must  not  be  overtaxed.  He  needs  rest  to  bring  back  his 
strength — for  now  he  is  like  an  infant." 

She  then  turned  to  my  Indian  mother,  and  said  a  few 
words  to  her  in  her  native  tongue.  The  latter  immedi- 
ately took  down  a  bladder  from  a  peg  in  the  wall,  and 
poured  therefrom  into  a  horn-cup  some  kind  of  liquid. 
This  cup  she  handed  to  Dundenah,  who  handed  it  to  me, 
saying : 

"  Let  the  Dark-Eye  drink  this,  and  forget  his  sorrows 
in  sleep." 

"Perhaps,"  said  I,  as  I  took  the  cup  and  looked  at  its 


172  CLARA  MORELAND. 

dark  contents,  "  it  will  send  me  to  that  sleep  which  has  no 
waking." 

Dundenah  frowned,  bit  her  lips,  and  rejoined,  rather 
sternly : 

"Is  the  Dark-Eje  then  suspicious  of  those  who  have 
periled  their  lives  to  save  his  ?" 

"Forgive  me!"  I  returned:  "I  meant  no  offence:  I 
will  drink  it  presently.     But  first  tell  me  of  my  wound  !" 

"  It  is  healing — though  thought  at  the  time  to  be  mor 
tal,"  she  replied. 

"And  she  who  struck  the  blow?" 

"  Died  by  the  hand  of  Dundenah,"  cried  my  companion, 
with  something  of  her  original  fierceness.  "  She  was  a 
Soolepcoom,  and  unworthy  to  live." 

This,  be  it  remarked,  was  the  second  time  I  had  heard 
the  word  Soolepcoom  mentioned ;  and  though  I  have 
explained  its  signification  to  the  reader,  by  way  of  conve- 
nience, yet  it  was  not  till  afterward,  during  my  captivity, 
that  I  learned  it  myself. 

"  And  she  whom  I  struck  down  with  the  knife  ?"  I 
pursued. 

"  Is  still  living.     There— drink  !" 

"One  question  more,  Dundenah:  What  became  of 
Langee?" 

"  He  escaped  the  vengeance  of  the  Wepecoolahs,"  she 
replied,  with  another  frown. 

"Was  he  pursued?" 

"Yes,  by  twenty  warriors." 

"Thank  God  that  he  has  escaped!"  was  my  mental 
ejaculation. 

I  now  again  looked  at  the  contents  of  the  cup — arid  not, 
if  truth  must  be  told,  without  strong  misgivings  that  it 
might  prove  a  deadly  narcotic. 

Not  that  I  thought  Dundenah  or  my  Indian  mother 


THE   RECOYERT.  173 


•wished  my  death — for  if  so,  why  had  they  endangered 
their  lives  to  save  mine  ?  or  why  not  have  sent  me  to  my 
last  sleep  during  my  unconsciousness  ? 

Ko  !  I  had  no  fears  that  they  meant  me  ill — but  rather 
that  they  might  have  mistaken  the  quantity  they  were 
giving  me. 

Had  there  been  an  opportunity  to  have  thrown  a  part 
of  it  away,  without  being  observed,  I  certainly  should 
have  done  so  ;  but  the  eyes  of  Dundenah  were  upon  me ; 
and  I  could  not  think  of  oifending  her,  or  of  wounding  her 
sensitive  feelings,  by  exhibiting  to  her  such  a  want  of  con- 
fidence in  her  prescription.  I  therefore  raised  the  cup 
slowly  to  my  lips — but  probs-bly  with  an  air  of  hesitation 
— for  she  said,  in  a  quick,  proud  tone : 

"If  the  Dark-Eye  fears  to  drink,  give  the  cup  to  Dun- 
denah, and  she  will  drain  it." 

I  hesitated  no  longer;  but,  without  a  word  in  reply, 
instantly  drank  off  the  liquid.  It  had  a  slightly  bitter, 
pungent  taste— but  was  neither  nauseous  nor  unpleasant. 
Its  effect,  however,  was  quick  and  powerful;  for  scarcely 
had  I  swallowed  it,  when  I  felt  a  soft  delicious  languor 
begin  to  steal  over  me.  I  no  longer  had  any  animation  or 
energy ;  and  if  my  own  fiither  had  then  appeared  to  me, 
and  told  me  I  was  free,  I  should  not  have  taken  the  trou- 
ble to  make  him  a  reply.  Soon  the  lids  of  my  eyes  began 
to  close — slowly,  gradually,  as  by  their  own  volition — and 
then,  free  from  care  and  sorrow,  and  perfectly  happy,  I 
sunk  into  a  sweet  oblivion. 

When  I  again  opened  my  eyes,  it  was  night — bait  what 
time  of  night  I  had  no  means  of  knowing.  The  hut  was 
dark — or  rather,  only  lighted  by  the  ruddy  gleam  of  a 
fire,  which  was  burning  on  the  common,  and  which  shone 
in  through  a  few  crannies  at  the  door,  where  hung  several 

15* 


174 


CLARA   MORELAND. 


skins  to  keep  out  the  cold,  for  it  was  now  late  in  the  fall, 
and  the  nights  here  were  frosty. 

I  felt  refreshed  by  my  sleep,  but  somewhat  faint  for 
want  of  food,  and  very  thirsty.  I  peered  around  the  hut, 
as  well  as  I  could,  but  could  see  no  person  in  attendance. 

Thinking  there  might  be  some  one  within  the  sound  of 
my  voice,  I  spoke  in  a  loud  tone.  Instantly  a  bundle, 
rolled  up  in  one  corner,  appeared  endowed  with  life,  and 
presently  a  human  figure  stood  up,  and,  going  to  the  door, 
withdrew  the  skins,  so  that  the  fire  on  the  common  could 
shine  in  upon  the  spot  where  I  lay.  Then  the  figure 
advanced  to  my  side,  and  I  recognized  the  features  of  my 
Indian  mother. 

I  made  signs  to  her  that  I  was  both  hungry  and  thirsty. 
She  seemed  to  have  anticipated  this,  and  prepared  accord- 
ingly— for  she  immediately  brought  me  a  cup  of  water, 
and  some  kind  of  gruel,  of  which  I  drank  to  my  satisfac- 
tion and  felt  much  strengthened  and  refreshed.  She  then 
looked  to  my  wounds — taking  off  the  bandages,  wetting 
them  in  some  kind  of  solution,  and  replacing  them  again — 
.and  all  with  a  care  and  tenderness  that  won  upon  my 
feelings. 

This  done,  and  having  carefully  covered  me  with  skins, 
she  held  up  her  open  palms,  as  a  sign  that  she  had  finished. 
I  nodded,  and  pointed  to  her  pallet ;  and  she  immediately 
retired,  leaving  me  to  myself.  1  regretted  I  could  not 
make  myself  understood  in  language — for  there  were 
several  questions  I  wished  to  ask — but  as  this  could  not 
be,  I  again  composed  myself  to  sleep ;  and,  aided  by  the 
narcotic,  of  which  I  still  felt  the  influence,  I  was  soon  in 
the  land  of  dreams. 

When  I  again  awoke,  the  sun  was  brightly  shining ;  and 
my  Indian  mother— or  Omema,  as  she  was  called — was 
Btanding  in  the  doorway,   looking   out  upon  the  common. 


THE   RECOVERY.  175 


She  instantly  came  to  me,  brought  me  some  more  gruel 
and,  while  I  was  engaged  in  drinking  it,  went  out. 

In  a  few  minutes,  to  my  surprise  and  joy,  Clara  entered 
hastily ;  and,  approaching  me  with  a  quick,  nervous  step, 
she  dropped  upon  her  knees  by  my  side,  and  burying  her 
face  in  her  hands,  burst  into  tears. 

"Clara!"  I  said,  in  a  choking  voice;  "dear  Clara — 
God  bless  you  ! — do  not  weep  !" 

But  the  sound  of  my  voice  only  appeared  to  increase 
her  emotion — for  she  fairly  sobbed  aloud,  and  swayed  back 
and  forth,  her  eyes  still  covered  by  her  hands,  through  the 
fingers  of  which  the  hot  tears  were  trickling  fast.  I  spoke 
to  her  again — but  she  took  no  notice  of  me ;  and  I  thought 
it  best  to  remain  silent  till  her  overcharged  feelings  had 
found  proper  vent. 

At  length  she  grew  calmer ;  and  suddenly  clasping  her 
hands,  and  turning  her  soft,  tearful  eyes  and  pale  face 
upward,  fervently  ejaculated : 

"  God  be  praised,  that  he  lives  to  speak  to  me  again ! 
God  be  praised !" 

"  Clara  !  dear,  dear  Clara  !"  I  said,  and  then  stopped  : 
for  my  heart  was  too  full  to  say  more ;  and  already  my 
own  eyes  were  dim  with  tears  that  I  had  in  vain  tried  to 
repress. 

"  Oh  !  Henry,"  she  said,  turning  her  soft  blue  eyes  upon 
me,  in  whose  liquid  depths  was  a  soul  of  earnest  tenderness : 
"  Oh  !  Henry — I  have  prayed  for  this — daily,  nightly, 
hourly — and  God  has  granted  my  prayer.  I  have  shed 
many,  many  bitter  tears  of  sorrow;  but  these  you  see 
are  tears  of  joy — thankful  joy.  Oh !  to  meet  you  living- 
conscious — and  to  hear  you  speak  my  name — is  happiness 
enough  for  once— more  would  turn  my  brain.  And  you 
will  recover,  and  need  no  longer  fear  the  stake  I      Oh ! 


176  CLARA  MORELAND. 

this  is  too  much  !  too  much  !"  and  drooping  her  head  upou 
her  breast,  she  sobbed  anew. 

"Bless  you,  dear  Clara !  Heaven  bless  you!'*  was  all 
I  could  utter  in  reply,  as  I  clasped  her  soft  hand  and  be- 
dewed it  with  tears. 

At  length  we  both  became  more  composed,  when  I  con- 
tinued : 

"  But  tell  me,  dear  Clara,  how  has  it  been  with  you  in 
your  captivity  ?  I  can  see  by  your  pale,  wasted  features, 
that  you  have  suifered  greatly  in  mind — but  have  you  been 
roughly  treated  and  abused  ?" 

"  The  day  you  were  to  undergo  the  tortures,"  she 
replied,  "  Dundenah  confined  me  in  the  lodge,  by  binding 
my  hands  and  feet — for  she  said  if  I  were  at  liberty,  my 
imprudence  would  ruin  all  her  plans — though  what  those 
plans  were,  I  knew  not  at  the  time,  and  had  no  idea  that 
she  intended  to  save  you.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
Indians  hurrying  you  away  to  the  stake ;  and  thinking  I 
should  never  see  you  again  in  life,  I  became  almost  frantic. 
How  I  broke  from  my  bonds,  I  scarcely  know ;  but  I  did 
break  from  them,  and  ran  to  you,  in  the  hope  that  they 
would  let  me  die  with  you." 

"  God  bless  you,  Clara  !" 

"  You  saw  how  I  was  then  treated  by  the  chief — but  it 
was  the  first  and  only  time  he  ever  laid  violent  hands  upon 
me.  I  believe  he  might  have  done  so,  at  other  times,  but 
that  he  seems  to  fear  oflfending  Dundenah,  who  has  great 
influence  over  him,  and  I  am  under  her  special  protection." 

"  And  how  has  she  treated  you  ?" 

"  Her  acts  have  been  kind — but  her  words  and  manner 
cold  and  constrained.  It  is  only  when  she  speaks  of  you, 
dear  Henry,  that  she  exhibits  any  thing  like  tender  or 
sympathetic  feeling ;  and  as  if  ashamed  of  this,  she  ever 
tries  to  hide  it  under  a  still  more  haughty  exterior." 


THE   RECOYERY.  177 


"  She  does  speak  of  me  then  ?"  I  said,  quickly. 

*'  Often — in  fact,  she  seldom  holds  any  conversation  with 
me,  without  in  some  manner  introducing  you  into  it." 

It  was  now  for  the  first  time  that  a  startling  suspicion 
flashed  across  my  mind,  of  what  undoubtedly  the  reader 
lias  ere  this  fixed  upon  for  a  certainty — namely :  that  the 
Indian  maiden  had  conceived  for  me  a  passion,  the  nature 
and  extent  of  which  might  be  determined  from  her  previous 
acts,  her  powerful  energies,  and  the  firmness  of  her 
character.  A  hundred  things  I  had  not  before  thought  of, 
now  rushed  upon  my  recollection,  all  tending  to  confirm 
this  startling  idea. 

And  startling  it  was  ;  for  if  it  really  were  as  I  feared, 
I  foresaw  that  serious,  if  not  terrible,  consequences  must 
ultimately  ensue  to  one  or  all  of  us. 

This  then,  perhaps,  was  why  Clara  and  I  had  been 
separated,  and  not  allowed  to  meet,  till  fate  or  Providence 
had  unexpectedly  thrown  us  together :  this  then  accounted 
for  the  strange  manner  of  Dundenah,  whenever  I  had  in- 
quired after  my  companion  in  captivity,  and  her  steady 
refusal  to  answer  my  questions,  leading  me  to  the  inference 
that  she  had  been  foully  dealt  with :  this  then  was  why 
she  had  seemed  so  ready  to  take  her  life,  or  set  her  at 
liberty,  at  my  request:  and  this,  to  conclude,  was  the 
secret  spring  of  her  noble  conduct  in  saving  my  life,  and 
trusting  in  my  honor  to  remain  forever  with  the  tribe. 

All  these  things,  I  say,  now  flashed  upon  me  at  once ; 
and  I  involuntarily  sighed,  as  I  thought  of  what  might  be 
the  result. 

"Why  do  you  sigh,  Henry,  and  seem  so  dejected?"  in- 
quired Clara,  tenderly. 

"  Is  it  not  enough  to  make  me  sigh  and  be  dejected,  to 
recollect  that  I  am  doomed  here  to  hopeless  captivity  ?"  I 
replied,  evasively — for  if  Clara  suspected  nothing,  I 
12 


178  CLARA   MORELAND. 


thought  it  better  not  to  add  to  her  troubles  by  telling  her 
mj  suspicions. 

"  And  is  our  captivity  indeed  hopeless  ?"  inquired  she, 
sorrowfully. 

*'  Mine,  I  fear,  is — but  I  hope  better  things  for  you," 
I  replied. 

"  How  so  ?"  she  asked,  quickly. 

I  repeated  the  conversation  I  had  the  day  before  held 
with  Dundenah  concerning  her. 

"And  you  really  think  I  may  be  set  at  liberty? — or 
rather,  be  escorted  home  to  my  parents?" 

*'I  think  I  may  prevail  upon  Dundenah — or  rather, 
that  Dundenah  may  prevail  upon  her  father,  to  have  this 
effected,"  I  replied. 

"  And  you,  dear  Henry — what  will  become  of  you  ?" 

"  I  must  remain  here,"  I  sighed. 

*'  But  surely,  if  you  can  accomplish  so  much  for  me, 
you  can  do  as  much  for  yourself?  If  Dundenah  will  let  me 
go,  she  certainly  will  not  refuse  you  the  same  privilege  ?" 

"  She  cannot  liberate  me  without  endangering  her  own 
life,  Clara." 

"How  so?" 

I  explained  to  her  how  that„  in  saving  me  from  the 
tDrture,  Dundenah  and  Omema  had  become  responsible 
with  their  lives  for  my  becoming  an  Indian,  and  remaining 
"with  the  tribe. 

"But  perhaps,"  suggested  Clara,  "Dundenah  might 
prevail  upon  the  Indians  to  consent  to  your  departure  ?" 

I  had  good  reason  to  believe  that  Dundenah  would  make 
no  such  effort  in  my  behalf;  and  I  gave  Clara  to  under- 
stand it  was  hopeless  to  expect  it,  without  saying  where- 
fore. 

"Then  will  I  remain  also,"  returned  Clara,  firmly. 

"  But  think  of  your  parents  ?  your  friends  ?" 


7iIL'   RECOVERY.  179 


"  Oh  !  my  dear  parents  !"  cried  she,  bursting  into  tears 
— "  how  have  they  borne  my  loss  ?  I  fear  it  has  killed 
my  poor  mother  already." 

"  The  more  reason,  then,  that  you  should  return  to 
them,  -without  delay,"  I  urged. 

"  And  leave  you  here  a  prisoner  V* 

"  But  I  shall  be  a  prisoner  if  you  stay,  dear  Clara — so 
that  your  going  will  make  my  fate  no  worse." 

"  But  I  should  be  afraid  to  go  if  you  were  not  along, 
dear  Henry.  No  !  no  !  I  will  remain  and  take  my  chance 
with  you." 

I  thought  of  Warncliff,  my  rival,  to  whom  her  hand  was 
pledged — and  of  her  stern  father  insisting  upon  having  the 
fatal  ceremony  performed  that  would  indeed  separate  her 
forever  from  me — and  I  urged  her  no  more ;  for  in  her 
present  captivity  there  was  hope  in  life ;  but  in  that  other 
captivity,  her  hope  of  release  must  be  fixed  on  the  grave. 

I  therefore  changed  the  conversation,  by  inquiring  how 
it  was  that,  if  at  liberty,  she  had  never  come  to  visit  me  in 
the  Council  House  ? 

"  I  was  not  permitted,"  she  replied.  "  Dundenah  warned 
me,  that  should  I  either  see  you — or,  by  my  voice,  in  any 
way  make  known  to  you  that  I  was  living — she  would  take 
care  to  make  good  the  separation  in  future,  by  sending  me 
to  a  neighboring  tribe.  To  have  been  so  separated,  would 
have  been  worse  than  death,  and  fear  kept  me  silent." 

"And  how  was  it  you  saw  not  the  Hermit ?" 

"  On  the  return  of  the  warriors,  I  was  ^ecreted  by 
Dundenah,  lest,  seeing  me  in  their  wrath,  I  should  be 
slain.  By  her  instructions,  I  had  previously  been  adopted 
into  the  tribe — so  that  I  could  not  be  tried  for  the  stake  as 
you  were." 

"  In  what  manner  were  you  adopted  into  the  tribe  ?"  I 
inquired. 


180 


CLARA    MORELAND. 


As  Clara  was  about  to  reply,  the  Leaping  Fawn  ap 
peared,  and  said  that  for  the  present  our  interview  must 
close,  as  I  must  not  be  fatigued  with  too  much  conversa- 
tion. Clara  accordingly  took  her  departure ;  but  seemed, 
I  fancied,  in  better  spirits  than  at  any  time  since  our 
capture. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


TEDIOUS   CAPTIVITY. 


I  AM  not  "writing  a  journal  of  daily  transactions;  but 
rather  throwing  into  a  connective  narrative  such  important 
incidents  and  events  of  my  life  as  will  be  most  likely  to 
interest  the  reader  and  conduce  to  the  denouement  of  my 
story.  Hence  I  trust  I  may  be  permitted  to  arrange  my 
narrative,  with  regard  to  time,  scene  and  dialogue,  accord- 
ing to  my  judgment  of  what  is  most  effective  in  descrip- 
tion, or  necessary  to  be  told  to  a  true  understanding  and 
comprehension  of  the  whole. 

If,  therefore,  I  endeavor  to  compress  into  a  few  pages 
what  occupied  months  in  reality,  the  reader  must  not  think 
I  have  conducted  him  thus  far  in  my  adventures,  to  insult 
his  good  nature  and  perseverance  by  slurring  over  the 
remainder;  but  rather  that  I  dismiss  with  a  few  words 
what  might  otherwise  prove  tedious,  in  order  to  do  justice 
to  his  expectations,  by  portraying  scenes  and  events  of  a 
character  not  less  exciting  than  any  he  has  witnessed. 

I  recovered  gradually,  but  slowly,  and  weeks  rolled  away 
ere  I  fully  regained  my  wonted  strength.  I  saw  Clara 
and  Dundenah  daily — so  that  the  time  passed  less  tediously 
than  it  otherwise  would  have  done. 

The  more  I  saw  of  Dundenah,  however,  the  more  was  I 
convinced  that  my  suspicions,  regarding  the  motive  of  her 
peculiar  conduct  toward  Clara  and  myself,  were  well 
founded ;  and  yet  to  combat  these  suspicions  was  the  fact, 
that  she  permitted  us  to  meet  daily,  and  converse  without 

16  (181) 


182  CLARA   MORELAND. 

interruption ;  and  this,  too,  without  exhibiting  any  of  that 
jealousy  which  seldom  fails  to  be  aroused  by  the  presence 
of  a  powerful  rival.  Perhaps  she  had  seen  enough  to  be 
convinced  that  my  affections  were  unchangeably  fixed  upon 
Clara,  and  that  in  her  absence  she  would  have  no  more 
hope  of  my  returning  her  own  passion  than  as  matters 
now  stood,  and  therefore  thought  it  best  to  silently 
acquiesce  in  a  decree  of  fate  beyond  any  power  of  hers 
to  alter. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  it  was  not  without  painful  interest 
that  I  beheld  the  brown  hue  of  her  cheeks  gradually 
change  to  a  sickly  pallor ;  that  I  saw  her  proud,  haughty 
look  gradually  give  way  to  dejection  and  melancholy; 
that  I  perceived  the  fiery  expression  of  her  dark  -  eyes 
gradually  superseded  by  a  mild,  tender  gleam ;  and  that  I 
noted  an  unusual  languor  in  her  steps,  and  a  sad  abstrac- 
tion in  her  manner.  Something  had  certainly  occurred  to 
produce  so  wonderful  a  change ;  and  what  that  something 
was,  I  fancied  I  knew  too  well. 

During  her  intercourse  with  me,  I  learned,  at  different 
times,  somewhat  of  her  own  history,  and  that  of  her  tribe 
— which,  not  to  weary  the  reader  with  detail,  I  will 
compress  into  the  smallest  possible  space. 

It  appears  that  many  years  ago,  at  a  friendly  council 
of  several  of  the  western  tribes,  a  number  of  young  braves, 
of  the  different  nations,  banded  together  for  a  grand  buf- 
falo hunt,  choosing  one  of  the  party  to  act  as  leader.  The 
hunt  over,  and  being  well  pleased  with  each  other,  they 
conceived  the  idea  of  remaining  together,  and  forming 
themselves  into  a  distinct  tribe.  The  leader  chosen  for 
the  hunt  was  formally  declared  to  be  chief;  and  for  laws 
of  government,  they  selected  such  as  were  most  popular 
among  the  different  tribes  to  which  they  formally  be- 
longed.    They  named  themselves  Wepecoolahs,  signifying 


TEDIOUS   CAPTIVITY.  183 

Forest-Eangers ;  and  in  course  of  time  the  different  lan- 
guages of  different  members  assimilated,  and  words  became 
added,  till  at  last  they  might  be  said  to  have  a  distinct 
tongue  of  their  own. 

When  they  first  united,  they  were  all  young  and  single ; 
but  most  of  them  soon  took  wives  after  the  Indian  fashion, 
and  in  course  of  time  became  fathers  of  numerous  offspring. 
For  some  reason  Kenneloo  was  the  last  to  marry  ;  and 
then  he  chose  for  his  bridal  bed  a  white  captive,  taken  in 
one  of  his  expeditions  against  the  frontier  settlements  of 
Texas.  The  only  living  issue  of  this  union  was  Dunde- 
nah,  who  inherited  her  mother's  beauty  with  much  of  her 
father's  fierceness,  while  she  had  peculiarities  belonging  to 
neither.  The  Wepecoolahs  had  no  permanent  abode — 
but,  as  their  title  indicated,  led  somewhat  of  a  roving 
life.  They  had  located  themselves  in  this  valley  three 
several  times ;  and  it  had  so  chanced  that  here  it  was  the 
Leaping-Fawn  first  saw  the  light. 

The  mother  of  Dundenah  had  died  when  she  was  quite 
young ;  but  the  daughter  still  remembered  her,  and  spoke 
of  her  with  tenderness.  From  what  I  could  gather  from 
Dundenah — for  on  this  point  she  was  not  inclined  to  be 
communicative  — I  conjectured  that  the  captive  wife  of 
Kenneloo  must  have  led  a  sorry  life  of  it ;  and  doubtless 
death  came  a  welcome  messenger  to  summon  her  to  a  hap- 
pier existence.  That  she  loved  her  child,  is  not  unreason- 
able to  suppose ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  one  of  the  refine- 
ment I  conceive  her  to  have  possessed,  could  ever  have 
regarded  the  vindictive  and  bloodthirsty  Kenneloo  in  any 
other  light  than  that  of  a  savage  master  and  tyrant.  Yet 
Kenneloo,  in  his  rude  way,  might  have  loved  his  gentle 
captive ;  for  Dundenah  said  that  at  her  death  he  was 
greatly  agitated,  and  for  a  long  time  after  seemed  very 
much  dejected. 


184  CLARA  MORELAND. 

It  appears  that  the  mother  of  Dundenah,  in  the  course 
of  her  captivity,  learned  the  language  of  the  Wepecoola:hs, 
so  as  to  speak  it  fluently ;  but  her  daughter,  and  her  only, 
she  taught  iicr  native  tongue,  the  English ;  and  this  pro- 
bably, partly  from  the  habit  of  talking  to  her  in  infancy 
in  the  language  most  natural  to  her,  and  the  rest  that  she 
might  have  one  ear  into  which  she  could  pour  her  sorrows, 
and  not  be  understood  by  the  others  of  the  tribe,  who 
would  not  be  likely  to  sympathize  with  her  in  her  mis- 
fortunes. 

But  though  Dundenah  had  first  learned  of  her  mother 
sufficient  English  to  converse  with  her  in  that  language  to 
some  degree,  yet  it  remained  for  Langee  to  perfect  her  in 
that  freedom  of  thought  and  expression— I  may  call  it 
poetical  fluency — of  which  the  sentences  already  recorded 
form  a  very  fair  specimen.  And  as  this  brings  me  to 
Langee,  I  will,  as  next  in  order,  proceed  to  speak  of  that 
strange  being. 

Who  he  was,  or  whence  he  came,  was  not  known  to  my 
informant.  He  had  first  appeared  among  the  tribe  while 
her  mother  was  living,  bringing  with  him  a  Pawnee  to  act 
as  interpreter ;  but  finding  the  wife  of  Kenneloo  could 
speak  English,  he  soon  dismissed  his  Indian  attendant, 
and  addressed  his  conversation  to  her,  and  through  her  to 
the  tribe,  receiving  his  answers  from  her  lips.  In  a  very 
short  time,  by  close  application  and  retentive  memory,  he 
was  able  to  converse  in  the  Wepecoolah  tongue. 

His  counsels,  it  appeared,  were  ever  good ;  but  his  con- 
duct, unfortunately,  too  often  reprehensible ;  and  as  exam- 
ple goes  farther  than  precept,  he  failed  in  producing  the 
good  efiect  he  might  otherwise  have  done.  He  had  some 
good  traits  of  character,  and  many  bad  ones.  He  was 
honorable  in  the  keeping  of  his  word,  but  a  man  of  most 
ungovernable  passions,  which  oftentimes  made  him  appear 


TEDIOUS  CAPTIVITY.  185 


like  a  madman.  In  fact,  from  what  I  myself  saw  of  him 
and  from  what  I  gathered. from  Dundenah,  I  do  not  think 
that  he  was  at  all  times  sane.  Wom»n  seemed  to  be  the 
cause  of  his  frenzy  ;  and  when  in  one  of  his  moods,  he  was 
the  terror  of  all  the  females  of  the  tribe,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  mother  of  Dundenah,  whom  he  never  failed  to 
respect.  Several  times  was  he  on  the  point  of  losing  his 
life,  which  was  only  saved  by  the  interference  of  Kenne- 
loo,  through  the  intercession  of  his  wife  or  daughter. 

To  Dundenah,  as  a  child,  it  seems  he  took  a  great 
fancy  ;  and  he  would  sit  and  talk  with  her  for  hours  in 
English,  telling  her  strange  tales  of  distant  lands,  and 
always  correcting  her  pronunciation  and  language  when 
ever  either  were  wrong  in  her  replies.  He  never  taught 
her  to  read  or  write ;  but  from  what  I  have  recorded,  the 
reader  can  see  that  in  speech  at  least  she  became  under 
his  tuition  quite  a  proficient  in  the  English  tongue.  She 
respected  him ;  but  rather  feared  than  loved  him ;  for  his 
manner  at  times  was  so  wild  and  strange  as  to  cause  her 
uneasiness  and  even  alarm. 

Langee  remained  several  years  among  the  Wepecoolahs, 
and  then  went  to  a  neighboring  tribe ;  where,  for  some 
criminal  act,  he  was  seized,  tried,  and  condemned  to  death 
— but  effected  his  escape.  On  the  day  previous  to  my 
capture,  an  Indian  scout  had  accidentally  discovered  his 
retreat;  and  subsequently  communicating  the  information 
to  Kenneloo,  the  chief  resolved,  for  purposes  of  his  own, 
to  take  him  prisoner.  Accident  having  thrown  Clara  and^ 
myself  into  the  hut,  we  were  seized  also  at  the  same  time ; 
and  the  rest  is  known  to  the  reader. 

When  I  had  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  walk 
about,  and  in  some  sort  endure  fatigue,  Dundenah  in- 
formed me  that  I  should  now  be  obliged  to  pass  through 
the  ceremony  which  would  transform  me  from  a  pale-face  to 

16*  ' 


186  CLARA   MORELAND. 

an  Indian.  This  announcement  took  me  by  surprise  ;  and 
ivhen  I  learned  that  one  part  of  the  proceeding  was  to 
shave  my  head,  lea^%lg  only  a  single  tuft  of  my  fine  hehd 
of  hair,  it  may  readily  be  believed  I  was  in  no  degree 
elated  at  the  contemplated  metamorphosis. 

But  I  was  in  the  hands  of  Fate — or  at  least  in  those  of 
the  Indians — resistance  would  have  been  worse  than  use- 
less— and  so  I  submitted  with  what  grace  I  could.  My 
hair  was  accordingly  all  shaved  oif,  with  the  exception  of 
the  aforementioned  tuft  or  scalp-lock,  and  the  place  of 
tonsure  was  immediately  bedaubed  with  a  thick  coating 
of  black  pitch.  I  was  then  stripped  of  my  clothing,  by 
some  half  a-dozen  rough  warriors,  and  painted  from  head 
to  heels  a  dirty  brown.  To  increase  my  savage  beauty, 
my  face  was  next  streaked  with  red ;  which  so  transformed 
me,  that  I  doubt  if  my  own  father  would  have  known  me. 
I  was  then  costumed  in  the  real  savage  style,  and  led  out 
upon  the  common,  where  the  whole  tribe  was  waiting  to 
take  part  in  the  concluding  ceremony.  This  consisted  in 
forming  a  large  ring  around  me,  dancing  wildly  in  a  circle, 
whooping,  shouting,  screeching,  and  yelling,  and  singing 
some  kind  of  a  refrain,  of  which  of  course  I  understood 
not  a  word. 

When  this  to  me  heathenish  gibberish  had  lasted  some 
two  hours — during  which  I  had  been  pulled  and  hauled 
by  one  and  another  till  I  was  fatigued  and  sore — I  was 
triumphantly  escorted  into  the  Council  House,  where  Dun- 
denah,  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  proceedings,  ap- 
peared to  inform  me  that  I  was  now  installed  a  regular 
member  of  the  tribe  of  Wepecoolahs,  with  all  the  immu- 
nities and  privileges  of  other  savages.  It  seems  needless 
to  add,  that  I  was  particularly  proud  of  my  new  position. 

Autumn  ran  into,  winter,  and  winter  passed  tediously 
away,  notwithstanding  I  saw  and  conversed  with  Dundenah 


TEDIOUS   CAPTIVITY.  187 


and  Clara  daily,  when  in  the  village — for  more  than  once, 
by  way  of  variety,  I  accompanied  my  brother  warriors  in 
a  hunt  for  game  among  the  neighboring  mountains. 
During  this  time,  I  learned  so  much  of  the  Wepecoolah 
language,  that  I  could  hold  some  conversation  on  the  most 
ordinary  topics.  I  was  uniformly  well  treated,  and  could 
not  perceive  that  I  ^as  regarded  with  an  eye  of  suspicion  ; 
and  had  it  not  been  that  I  felt  in  honor  bound  to  remain 
with  the  tribe,  for  reasons  known  to  the  reader,  I  should 
certainly  have  made  an  attempt  at  escape. 

I  had  never  forgotten  Langee,  and  the  "  Hope"  he  had 
left  behind  him  on  the  earthen  floor  of  the  Council 
House;  but  as  months  passed  on,  and  I  heard  nothing 
from  him,  I  felt  indeed  that  my  hope  in  that  quarter  was 
written  in  sand. 

The  winter  here  proved  very  disagreeable — not  so  much 
on  account  of  ice  and  snow,  as  cold,  sleety  rain-storms, 
and  sudden,  piercing  blasts  from  the  snow-capped  moun- 
tains of  a  more  northern  latitude.  It  would  sometimes  be 
BO  warm  at  night  as  to  render  a  fire  unnecessary ;  and 
before  morning  I  would  be  shivering  with  the  cold,  and 
chilled  to  the  very  bone.  In  consequence  of  these  sud- 
den and  severe  changes,  and  exposure  from  the  want  of 
such  clothing  as  we  had  been  accustomed  to,  both  Clara 
and  myself  took  violent  colds,  which  more  than  once 
threatened  each  of  us  with  serious  illness,  but  from  which 
latter  affliction  kind  Providence  spared  us. 

During  this  period,  the  deportment  of  Dundenah  toward 
me  was  ever  kijiid  ;  but  toward  the  last  she  appeared  more 
reserved  and  abstracted — and  it  pained  me  to  observe  the 
deep  melancholy  which  had  come  over  her.  She  would 
often  remain  pensive  and  silent  for  hours ;  and  many  a 
time,  when  I  turned  suddenly  toward  her,  did  I  catch  the 
glance  of  her  dark  eyes,  which  had  been  fixed  upon  me,  but 


188 


CLARA   MOEELAND. 


which  she  immediately  averted,  while  a  flush  of  confusion 
would  instantly  mantle  her  features.  It  was  impossible 
for  me  to  be  mistaken  as  to  the  cause  of  this  change ;  but 
so  far  from  feeling  any  exultation,  it  was  a  source  of 
regret  to  me  that  her  affections  had  not  been  centered  upon 
an  object  that  could  reciprocate  them.  Clara,  however, 
seemed  to  suspect  nothing  of  the  kind ;  and  believing  it 
better  for  her  to  remain  ignorant  thereof,  I  kept  the  secret 
close-locked  in  my  heart. 

I  felt  really  grateful  to  Dundenah  for  her  kindness — 
and  more  especially,  that  I  saw  it  extended  to  my  compa- 
nion in  captivity.  Clara  was  immediately  under  her 
charge — both  occupied  the  same  lodge — and  my  heart 
warmed  toward  the  unfortunate  Indian  maiden,  when, 
instead  of  displaying  jealousy  toward  her  companion, 
because  of  her  affection  for  me,  I  saw  her  use  every  means 
in  her  power  to  render  her  contented  and  happy  in  her 
captivity.  Clara  was  grateful  also  ;  and  more  than  once, 
when  speaking  to  me  of  Dundenah,  I  saw  the  tear  of 
heartfelt  emotion  dim  her  eye. 

Poor  Dundenah !  with  all  her  faults,  she  was  indeed 
worthy  of  a  better  destiny^  and  my  heart  bleeds  as  I 
recall  her  untimely  end. 

But  let  me  not  anticipate. 

It  was  with  no  pleasant  feelings  that,  toward  spring, 
when  the  weather  had  become  more  mild  and  agreeable,  I 
saw  the  Wepecoolahs  begin  to  make  preparations  for 
another  expedition  against  the  frontiers  of  Texas.  They 
sharpened  their  knives  and  tomahawks,  put  their  bows  and 
arrows  in  order,  painted  their  persons  as  hideously  as 
possible,  and  held  their  war-dance  on  the  common,  in 
which  all  were  obliged  to  participate,  Clara  and  myself  not 
excepted.  They  did  not  carry  matters  so  far  as  to  attempt 
to  force  me  to  go  with  them — neither  did  they  slight  me 


TEDIOUS   CAPTIVITY.  i89 


hj  not  giving  me  an  invitation  to  make  one  of  their 
number. 

At  length,  when  all  was  in  readiness,  thej  set  out — on 
horseback,  as  before — numbering  no  less  than  sixty  athletic 
warriors,  with  Kenneloo  at  their  head — leaving  some  ten 
or  fifteen  trusty  braves  to  look  after  the  women  and 
children,  and  protect  the  village  in  their  absence.  It  was 
now  that,  but  for  the  promise  involving  the  lif^  of  Dun- 
deuah  and  Omema,  which  bound  me  to  remain,  I  should 
certainly  have  attempted  to  make  my  escape. 

But  it  often  happens  that  the  plans  which,  in  our  human 
wisdom,  we  have  laid,  would,  if  carried  out,  prove  disas- 
trous to  ourselves ;  and  it  as  often  happens  that  Providence 
is  secretly  working  for  our  good,  when,  in  the  despair  of 
tribulation  and  adversity,  we  are  led  to  think  ourselves 
foi  c^otten  by  Him  who  notes  even  the  fall  of  a  sparrow. 


CHAPTER  XVL 


THE  ATTACK. 


The  Wepecoolahs,  headed  by  their  vindictive  chief,  had 
been  gone  upon  their  war-path  some  two  or  three  days, 
when,  having  passed  a  restless  night,  I  arose  one  morning 
before  the  break  of  day,  and  went  out  to  take  a  walk  in 
the  open  air.  All  was  dark  and  quiet  in  the  village — for 
the  fires  had  burned  down,  and  no  one  was  stirring. 

I  strolled  up  the  valley  some  quarter  of  a  mile,  in  a 
troubled  mood — for  I  was  thinking  of  friends  far  away, 
and  of  the  feeble  prospect  of  my  ever  seeing  them  again — 
and  then  turned  aside,  and  began  to  ascend  a  steep  hill 
to  the  right,  with  no  definite  purpose  in  view,  unless  it 
were  to  note  the  breaking  of  day,  and  the  rising  of  the 
sun,  which  had  often  been  a  delight  to  me  in  happier 
times. 

"Having  reached  a  height  which  gave  me  a  fair  view  of 
the  eastern  horizon,  I  seated  myself  upon  a  rock,  and 
fixing  my  eyes  upon  the  point  where  the  sun  would  first  be 
visible,  I  let  my  thoughts  wander  to  far-ofi"  scenes,  and 
reflected  that  the  great  luminary  which  I  should  soon 
behold,  was  already  shining  upon  my  native  soil,  and  that 
even  now  friends  dear  to  me  might  be  gazing  upon  it,  and, 
"peradventure,  wondering  what  had  become  of  the  wanderer 
who  had  so  often  been  a  welcome  partaker. in  their  scenes 
of  festivity  and  joy. 

Would  they  ever  behold  me  again?  or  would  I  ever 
again  behold  that  happy  land  ?  which  time,  distance,  and 
(190) 


THE   ATTACK.  191 


the  peculiar  circumstance  in  which  I  was  placed,  now 
rendered  as  dear  to  me  as  the  sacred  spot  which  holds  the 
mortal  remains  of  some  dcarlj  loved  friend  is  to  the 
afflicted  mourner. 

While  buried  in  reflections  like  these,  and  just  as  the 
first  colden  streaks  of  morn  began  to  shoot  up  in  the 
orient,  I  was  startled  by  hearing  loud  Indian  yells, 
screeches  of  terror,  and  reports  of  fire-arms.  I  bounded 
up  from  the  rock,  and  for  a  few  moments  stood  bewildered, 
like  one  who  hears  some  joyful  news  and  yet  is  afraid  to 
credit  his  senses,  lest  he  light  the  beacon  of  hope  only  td 
have  it  quickly  extinguished  in  the  gloomy  waters  of 
disappointment. 

But  the  sounds  still  continuing — shrieks,  yells,  shouts 
and  reports  of  musketry  commingled  in  one  terrific  din — I 
knew  that  the  village  was  attacked ;  and,  as  I  had  good 
reason  to  believe,  by  my  countrymen — for  the  Indians  of 
this  quarter  seldom  fought  with  fire-arms. 

« It  was  therefore  with  feelings  strange,  wild,  and  inde- 
scribable, that  I  uttered  a  yell  a  little  less  savage  than 
those  of  my  late  companions,  and  set  off  for  the  scene  of 
contention,  a  prey  to  a  thousand  alternate  hopes  and  fears. 
Thoughts  whirled  through  my  brain  with  a  wild,  dizzy 
sensation;  but  above  all  rose  the  image  of  Clara;  and 
fearful  of  what  might  be  her  fate  in  this  scene  of  strife  and 
dire  confusion,  I  went  bounding  down  the  steep  mountain- 
side to  the  valley,  like  a  stag  pursued  by  the  hounds. 
How  I  escaped  without  injury  was  almost  a  miracle;  but  I 
reached  the  valley  in  safety,  and  continued  my  course 
toward  the  village,  with  unabated  exertions,  and  scarcely 
unabated  speed. 

The  dull,  leaden  hue  of  early  morning  was  just  begin- 
ning to  chase  away  the  darker  shades  of  night ;  so  that 
objects  could  be  seen  at  some  distance,  but  only  distinctly 


192  CLARA  MORELAND. 


when  within  a  few  feet  of  the  eye.  By  this  dim  light, 
therefore,  as  I  neared  the  clustering  huts  of  the  Wepecoo- 
lahs,  I  could  faintly  perceive  dark  figures  flitting  to  and 
fro — some  evidently  flying  in  terror  to  save  their  lives,  and 
pursued  by  others  eager  for  blood  and  vengeance — while 
above  the  agonizing  shrieks  and  groans  of  the  assailed, 
and  the  cheers  and  shouts  of  the  assailants,  I  heard  a 
hoarse  voice,  saying : 

"  These  are  the  heathen  that  know  not  God  1  Slay,  and 
spare  not !  let  the  curse  of  eternal  damnation  be  upon 
them !" 

As  I  drew  close  upon  the  huts,  running  with  all  my 
speed,  an  Indian  passed  me,  making  for  the  cover  of  the 
mountain,  followed  by  a  white  man  in  eager  chase,  who 
seemed  to  be  gaining  upon  his  victim  at  every  step. 
Neither  took  any  notice  of  me;  but  hearing  a  yell  of 
agony  a  moment  after,  I  naturally  turned  my  head  IM^ 
learn  the  result ;  and  I  had  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
Indian  and  white  man  falling, 

"  Hard  grappled  in  the  affray  of  death," 

when  my  foot,  striking  against  the  dead  body  of  another 
Indian,  I  came  to  the  ground  with  almost  stunning  force. 
At  the  same  moment  a  ball  from  a  pistol,  aimed  at  my 
life,  whizzed  over  my  head ;  and  the  person  who  fired  the 
shot,  finding  he  had  missed  his  mark,  sprung  toward  me 
with  gleaming  knife,  to  take  advantage  of  my  accident, 
either  to  despatch  or  secure  me  a  prisoner. 

Somewhat  bewildered  with  my  fall  and  previous  excite- 
ment, I  still  had  suflBcient  presence  of  mind,  as  I  saw  my 
assailant  rushing  upon  me,  to  exclaim : 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  man,  would  you  murder  one 
of  your  own  countrymen  ?" 


THE  ATTACK.  193 


"Eh!  what!"  he  cried,  stopping  suddenly — "who  are 
you?" 

Heavens  t  what  a  thrill  went  through  me,  as  I  heard 
that  voice  !  Could  it  be  possible  ?  I  started  to  my  feet,  and 
looked  him  in  the  face.  Yes,  it  was  he;  I  was  not 
mistaken ;  and  fairly  shrieking  forth  my  joy — for  it  was 
too  excessive  to  yet  find  vent  in  words — I  threw  open 
my  arms,  and  rushed  toward  him.  He  sprang  back, 
mistaking  my  purpose ;  and  instantly  presenting  a  revolver, 
cried : 

"  Two  good  shots  yet :  yield  you  a  prisoner,  whoever 
you  are,  or  I'll  lodge  both  in  your  body." 

"What!"  cried  I,  in  astonishment,  now  finding  my 
tongue — and  forgetting,  in  my  excitement,  that  my  Indian 
coMume,' shaved  head,  and  painted  face  and  body,  was  a 
;iusc  \vliich  neither  the  eye  of  friend  nor  foe  might 
is  it  possible  that  Morton  Harley  has  for- 


name  of  all  the  saints  !"  cried  he,  thunder- 
Btruck'^1^  return — "  what  —  why — how — no — yes  —  this 
greasy  face — can  it  be  ? — Harry,  is  it  you  ?" 

"It  is  I,  Morton — truly  I — Harry  "Walton,  your  old 
friend." 

Down  went  knife  and  pistol,  and  the  next  moment  we 
were  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  weeping  and  laughing 
alternately,  and  feeling  very  happy  and  very  sad,  and  a 
great  deal  more  that  I  cannot  describe.  When  our  first 
transports  had  so  far  subsided,  that  we  could  again  find 
gpeech,  Harley  said : 

"  1  came  to  seek  you,  Harry,  it  is  true ;  but  not  finding 
you  in  the  onset,  I  concluded  the  savages  had  put  you  to 
death,  and  I  was  for  taking  deep  revf^nge  on  the  accursed 
race.  In  fact,  my  dear  friend,"  he  added,  his  eyes  filling 
with  tears  at  the  thought,  "  I  was  nigh  revenging  you  on 
13  17 


194  CLARA   MORELAND. 


yourself;  for  mistiking  you  for  an  Indian  returning  to 
the  affray,  I  fired ;  and  had  you  not  fallen  as  you  did,  I 
fear  my  shot  had  been  fatal,  for  I  seldom  miss  my  mark. 
Great  Heaven  !  only  to  think  how  near  I  was  to  slaying 
my  best  friend  !     Ah  !  it  makes  my  blood  run  cold  !" 

"But  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  wonderful!"  cried  I, 
,1  thousand  questions  rushing  upon  me  at  once,  so  that  I 
scarcely  knew  which  to  put  first — "  how  came  you  here  ?" 

"  Do  you  hear  that  noise  ?"  said  Harley. 

And  again,  above  the  shrieks  and  din  of  strife,  I  heard 
distinctly  the  words : 

"  *  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,  and  I  will  repay! 
Slay,  and  spare  not !  for  the  curse  of  Heaven  is  upon  the 
heathen  that  know  not  God  !" 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  Langee,"  said  I. 

"  Man,  madman,  or  devil — I  know  not  who  he  is — but 
he  it  was  that  guided  us  hither,"  replied  Harley. 

"  In  the  name  of  humanity !"  cried  I,  "let  us  stay  the 
massacre !  See !  the  fugitives  are  flying  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  the  pursuers  seem  to  spare  neither  age  nor  sex. 
And  Clara !"  shrieked  I,  as  the  thought  of  her  danger 
again  recurred  to  me.  "  Holy  Saints  !  perhaps  she,  too, 
has  fallen  a  victim  !  for  in  her  Indian  costume  she  might 
easily  be  mistaken  for  one  of  the  tribe;"  and  I  bounded 
away  between  the 'huts  to  the  common,  where  the  scene  of 
human  butchery  that  met  my  gaze  made  me  shudder  with 
horror. 

No  less  than  fifteen  dead  bodies,  mostly  women  and 
children,  mutilated  and  gory,  lay  scattered  about,  having 
been  indiscriminately  slain,  as  they  rushed  from  their  huts 
on  the  first  alarm.  The  first  I  gazed  upon  was  Omema, 
my  Indian  mother,  who  lay  weltering  in  her  blood,  shot 
through  the  heart,  I  uttered  a  cry  of  horror  and  grief, 
for  she  had  been  very  kind  to  me,  and  looked  eagerly  at 


THE  ATTACK.  195 


each  of  the  others,  trembling  with  fear,  lest  my  senses 
should  suddenly  be  appalled  by  a  sight  of  the  gory  form 
of  her  I  loved  best. 

But  Clara  was  not  among  the  slain,  so  far  as  I  could 
discover ;  and  I  hurried  to  the  lodge  of  the  chief,  which 
she  had  occupied  with  Dundenah. 

The  common  was  at  this  time  deserted  by  all  the  living 
nave  Harley  and  myself;  but  the  cries  of  pursuers  and 
pursued  could  be  heard  in  various  directions,  each  moment 
growing  more  distant,  as  the  bloody  chase  led  away  from 
the  village.  I  looked  into  the  lodge  of  Kenneloo ;  but 
finding  it  deserted,  I  ran,  half-distracted,  to  the  Council 
House,  Harley  keeping  close  to  my  side,  but  neither  of  us 
exchanging  a  word.  As  I  was  about  to  enter  this  build- 
ing, I  felt  myself  rudely  seized,  and  a  knife  gleamed  be- 
fore my  eyes.  I  was  too  much  taken  by  surprise  to  have 
spoken  in  time  to  save  my  life ;  but  Harley,  who  was 
pressing  in  with  me,  instantly  seized  the  uplifted  arm,  and 
cried  : 

"Hold!  hold!  it  is  Henry  Walton." 

"  Good  heavens  !"  cried  my  assailant — "  is  it  possible  !'* 
and  stepping  back  a  couple  of  paces,  he  regarded  me  with 
astonishment. 

I  was  no  less  astonished  to  recognize  in  the  speaker  the 
person  of  Walter  Moreland  ;  but  bent  on  finding  Clara,  I 
only  greeted  him  with  : 

"  Your  sister  !  your  sister  !  where  is  she  ?" 

"There,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
building,  "in  the  arms  of  her  father." 

"  What !"  cried  I,  still  more  astonished,  if  that  were 
possible — "  Colonel  Moreland  here  also  ?"  and  I  darted 
away  to  a  group  of  three  figures,  whose  outlines  I  could 
just  distinguish  by  the  dim  light. 

As  I  approached,  I  recognized  the  Colonel,  who  was 


396  CLARA  MOREL  AND. 

seated  upom  one  of  the  benches,  supporting  his  daughter 
in  his  arms,  whose  pale  features  and  apparently  lifeless 
form  led  me  to  infer  the  worst.  Dundenah,  who  was 
standing  beside  the  others,  had  turned  toward  me  on  hear- 
ing my  voice ;  and  as  I  came  up,  she  clasped  her  hands 
and  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  deep  emotion  : 

"  The  Dark-Eye  is  safe — thanks  be  to  Wandewah !" 

But  I  had  no  thought  for  any  thing  but  Clara ;  and  in 
my  excitement,  I  fairly  shrieked  forth  : 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  is  all  over  ?     Who  did  the  deed  ?'* 

"What  intrusion  is  this?"  cried  the  Colonel,  sharply, 
looking  fiercely  at  me. 

"  It  is  Henry  Walton,'*  said  Harley,  coming  up  behind 
jne,  in  company  with  Walter. 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  recognize  a  friend  in  such  disguise," 
fiaid  the  latter,  "  and  I  was  nigh  putting  an  end  to  his  life, 
mistaking  him  for  one  of  the  savages." 

"  And  I  also,"  chimed  in  Harley. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  a  just  judgment  of  Hea- 
ven, if  one  of  you  had  succeeded,"  said  the  Colonel,  in  a 
cold,  dry  tone,  as  he  bent  over  his  inanimate  daughter, 
and  commenced  chafing  her  limbs. 

I  was  so  thunderstruck  by  this  answer,  that  I  stood 
staring  upon  the  speaker,  and  wondering  if  I  heard  aright. 
Not  so  Harley. 

"  What  means  this  language  to  my  friend  ?"  he  quickly 
demanded,  with  flashing  eyes.  '^  Is  this  the  reception  you 
give  one  who  has  unfortunately  borne  a  long  and  tedious 
captivity  with  your  daughter  ?" 

"If  I  had  not  entrusted  my  daughter  to  his  care,  and 
he  been  false  to  the  trust,  the  affliction  I  have  endured  on 
her  account  had  been  spared  me,"  replied  the  Colonel,  in 
the  same  harsh,  chilling  tone. 

"  Who  says  I  have  been  false  to  my  truat,  utters  a  lie !" 


THE  ATTACK.  197 


cried  I,  forgetting  every  thing  in  my  excitement  but  the 
foul  aspersion  cast  upon  my  character. 

"Hold!  hold!  Mr.  Walton!"  interposed  Walter,  sooth- 
ingly, taking  hold  of  my  arm.  "  Say  nothing  rash  now — 
all  will  be  right  in  time.  Let  father's  words  pass  :  he  is 
excited,  and  his  mind  has  been  poisoned  against  you." 

"  I  know  by  whom,"  returned  I — "  that  villain  Warn- 
cliff — but  we  shall  meet  again,  perhaps." 

"  Sooner  than  you  expect,  probably,"  said  Walter. 

"  How  !  is  he  here  too  ?" 

"Yes,  he  is  the  leader  of  this  party." 

"  Then  that  may  account  for  their  hellish  ferocity," 
returned  I.  "  Their  acts  are  worthy  of  such  a  leader,  and 
prove  them  villains  of  the  same  stamp — for  none  bui  such 
would  slay  defenceless  women  and  children." 

"  Hush  !  hush !  for  if  overheard,  it  may  be  the  worse 
for  you." 

I  was  about  to  continue  in  the  same  bitter  strain — but 
my  eye  falling  upon  Clara,  I  forgot  every  thing  but  her. 

"Is  she  dead?"  cried  I.     "Oh!  tell  me— is  she  dead?" 

"No,  only  in  a  swoon,"  answered  Walter.  "Her  joy 
at  meeting  us,  combined  with  excitement  and  alarm, 
proved  too  much  for  her  nerves,  and  she  fell  senseless  into 
*  her  father's  arms,  who  bore  her  here 'from  the  scene  of 
horrid  strife,  accompanied  by  this  damsel,  who  seems  to 
be  a  captive  also." 

"  The  white  man  is  wrong — Dundenah  is  no  captive — 
she  is  the  daughter  of  a  chief!"  exclaimed  the  Indian 
maiden,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  that  air  of 
proud  defiance  which  she  had  been  wont  to  exhibit  on  my 
first  acquaintance  with  her. 

At  this  moment  a  slight  motion  of  Clara,  accompanied 
by  a  groan,  drew  the  attention  of  each  to  her ;  and  while 
we  were  all  gazing  upon  her,  in  anxious  suspense,  Langee, 

17* 


198  CLARA  MORELAND. 

followed  by  Warncliff,  burst  into  the  Council  House,  ex- 
claiming, in  that  hoarse  voice  which  I  had  heard  above 
the  din  : 

"  Slay  !  slay  !  slay !  Let  the  blood  of  the  heathen  run 
in  rivers  !  for  they  are  unworthy  to  live ;"  and  he  came 
bounding  toward  us,  gnashing  his  teeth,  frothing  at  tho 
mouth,  and  his  hollow  eye,  glaring  with  maniacal  wildness. 

" He  is  insane  !"  cried  I :  "he  must  be  secured  !" 

"  Here  is  another  heathen — let  him  be  slain  !"  he 
shouted,  rushing  at  once  upon  me  with  uplifted  knife. 

I  sprung  back  to  avoid  the  blow ;  and  at  the  same 
instant  Dundenah,  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  darted 
between  us  ;  and,  ere  any  one  was  aware  of  her  purpose, 
buried  her  knife  to  the  very  hilt  in  his  heart.  As  he  fell, 
ehe  exclaimed : 

"  The  curse  of  Wandewah  be  upon  Langee  for  a  vile 
traitor!'* 

Astonishment  for  a  moment  paralyzed  us  all.  Warncliff 
Was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Seize  her  !"  he  cried  :  "  she  has  slain  our  guide,  and 
her  life  shall  answer  for  his;"  and  he  sprung  toward  her, 
knife  in  hand,  with  the  evident  intention  of  dispatching 
her  on  the  spot. 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  interfere;  and,  rushing  hard 
against  him,  I  threw  him  to  the  ground,  exclaiming : 

"  Coward  !  villain  !  would  you  slay  a  woman  ?" 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  he  cried,  regaining  his  feet  with  great 
dexterity,  and  confronting  me  with  a  fiendish  look. 

"Your  mortal  foe,  Henry  Walton." 

"Ha!  have  at  you  then !"  and  drawing  a  revolver,  he 
discharged  it  full  at  my  breast— but,  forliunately  for  me, 
missed  his  mark. 

The  next  moment  he  was  seized  by  Harley  and  Walter, 
vhil©  the  voice  of  Colonel  Mor eland  thundered : 


THE   ATTACK.  199 


"  Peace  all !  there  is  blood  enough  spilled  already ;  and 
the  first  who  renews  this  quarrel,  makes  me  his  foe  for 
life." 

At  the  same  moment  Clara  started  up  and  cried : 

"  Merciful  Heaven  I  where  am  I  ?" 

"  Here,  my  child,  in  your  father's  arms,"  said  the 
Colonel.     "  Fear  nothing — you  are  safe." 

During  this  excitement  and  confusion,  Dundenah  had 
effected  her  escape  from  the  Council  House ;  but  while 
Harley  and  Walter  were  still  holding  Warncliff — who,  too 
insane  with  passion  to  heed  any  thing  that  was  said,  was 
still  struggling  to  free  himself — Dundenah  reappeared  at 
the  door,  with  a  drawn  bow  in  her  hand. 

"  Take  this  !"  she  cried. 

There  was  a  loud  twang  of  the  bow;  and  an  arrow, 
sped  with  certain  aim,  passed  through  the  right  arm  of 
Warncliff,  and  made  a  slight  incision  in  his  side.  He 
uttered  a  yell  of  pain ;  and  the  Colonel  starting  up, 
cried : 

"  Secure  that  she-devil,  or  we  shall  all  be  murdered  !" 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  when  we 
heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle  ;  and  Dundenah,  who  had  turned 
to  fly,  fell  back  into  the  Council  House,  with  a  groan.  I 
ran  to  her,  and  lifted  her  in  my  arms.  There  was  a  deep 
wound  in  her  breast,  and  the  warm  blood  was  flowing 
freely.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  I  thought  she  was 
dead.  I  spoke  her  name,  and  it  seemed  to  recall  her 
spirit  back  to  earth.  She  looked  up,  fixed  her  dark  eyes 
mournfully  upon  me,  and  said,  in  a  feeble  voice : 

"  Farewell !  May  the  great  Wandewah  bless  you ! 
The  race  of  Dundenah  is  run." 

And  as  she  said  this,  she  gave  a  convulsive  gasp,  and 
expired. 


200  CLARA   MORELAND. 

As  I  gently  laid  her  down,  "with  tearful  eyes,  some  one 
darkened  the  door,  and  a  hoarse  voice  exclaimed : 

"  Here's  another  of  the red  niggers — knock  him 

on  the  head  ;"  and,  again  mistaken  for  an  Indian,  a  toma- 
hawk was  hurled  at  me  by  the  same  hand  that  had  slain 
poor  Dundenah. 

It  barely  grazed  my  face,  but  did  me  no  other  injury ; 
and  ere  any  further  violence  could  be  offered,  Harley  in- 
terposed, and  informed  the  rufifian  that  I  was  one  of  th© 
captives  the  party  had  come  to  liberate. 

"  Oh !    that  alters  the  case,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of 

brutal  indifference.     "  Thought  he  was  a  Injun,  by ! 

She's  one  on  *em,  arn't  she  ?  (pointing  to  his  bloody 
victim) — for  I'd  hate  most  powerful  to  know  I'd  shot  a 
white  gal,  though  she  did  sling  an  arrer  in  here.  Eh  !" 
he  added,  looking  down  the  Council  House  :  "  Eh  !  what ! 
the  Cap'en  hurt  ?"  and  swinging  his  rifle  .over  his  shoulder, 
he  deliberately  picked  up  his  tomahawk  and  strode  away 
toward  his  leader. 

I  was  still  bending  over  the  corse  of  the  poor  Indian 
maiden,  half  stupified  with  the  conflicting  emotions  which 
the  events  of  the  last  half  hour  had  excited,  when  the 
voice  of  Clara,  close  beside  me,  exclaimed : 

"  Merciful  God !  they  have  murdered  our  kind  pro- 
tectress !  Poor  Dundenah  !  poor  Dundenah  !"  and  kneel- 
ing beside  her,  she  paid  a  grateful  tribute  of  tears  to  her 
memory;  at  the  same  time  murmuring:  "Father  in 
Heaven,  give  peace  to  her  soul  1" 

"  Amen  !"  said  I  solemnly. 

"And  you  are  saved,  dear  Henry  !"  she  added,  turning 
upon  me  a  look  that  expressed  even  more  than  her  words. 

"It  is  a  woful  deliverance,  Clara;  and  but  for  your 
Bake,  I  could  wish  that  mine  had  not  been  bought  at  such 
a  price." 


THE   ESCAPE.  201 


"  Come,  daughter,"  said  the  voice  of  Colonel  Moreland, 
sternly,  who  had  come  up  behind  us — "  this  is  no  fit  sight 
for  one  of  your  weak  nerves." 

"  Nor  for  the  sight  of  any  one  born  in  a  land  of  civili- 
zation and  Christianity  !"  said  Clara,  quickly,  and  with 
spirit.    "  Oh  !  father,  could  you  not  have  prevented  this  ?" 

"  No  !  and  if  I  could,  she  deserved  her  fate — for  she 
had  already  killed  our  guide,  and  wounded  our  leader." 

"  Your  leader,  father  ?"  cried  Clara,  in  surprise.  "  Is 
there  one  above  you,  then,  in  command  of  this  expe- 
dition ?" 

"  Yes !  this  party  was  raised  by  Warncliff,  who  wished 
to  have  the  honor  of  rescuing  his  betrothed." 

"  Warncliflf  ?"  repeated  Clara,  with  a  visible  shudder. 
**  Oh  !  I  would  sooner  remain  in  captivity  than  owe  my 
deliverance  to  him." 

"  Ungrateful  girl !  what  means  this  language  ?"  cried 
her  father,  angrily.  "  But  it  is  easily  seen  who  has  been 
your  tutor ;"  and  he  glanced  pointedly  at  me. 

"My  own  heart  has  been  my  tutor,"  rejoined  Clara, 
with  spirit ;  "  and  sooner  will  I  suffer  death  than  be  the 
wife  of  such  a  man." 

The  Colonel  bit  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  flashed  fire.  He 
seemed  about  to  make  an  angry  reply,  but  checked  him- 
self, and  merely  said : 

"  Come,  this  is  not  a  time*  and  place  to  discuss  such 
matters  ;'*  and  taking  hold  of  Clara's  arm,  he  led  her  away. 

They  met  Warncliff  a  moment  after,  who  came  forward 
with  his  arm  bleeding,  the  arrow  having  been  extracted, 
He  stopped  and  spoke  to  them ;  but  I  could  see  that  Clara 
treated  him  very  coldly.  He  then  came  up  to  the  bloody 
corpse  of  Dundenah ;  and  after  gazing  upon  it,  with  a 
grim  smile,  muttered,  between  his  set  teeth : 

"  Hell's  curses  on  you  and  all  your  friends !"  and  he 


202  CLARA  iMORLLAND. 


looked  at  me  in  a  way  to  show,  that  I  was  included  in  this 
iiialediction. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  I  could  restrain  my- 
self from  striking  him  to  the  earth ;  and  perhaps  I  should 
not,  but  that  I  felt  Harley's  warning  grasp  on  my  arm. 

Warncliff  then  turned  to  the  ruffian,  who  came  stalking 
up  behind  him,  and  added  : 

"  Tom,  this  is  the  best  piece  of  work  you  ever  per- 
formed, and  I  will  make  it  prove  so  ;"  and  with  another 
savage  glance  at  me,  he  went  out. 

"  Be  prudent,  Harry,"  whispered  Harley ;  ."  this  is  no 
place  to  quarrel ;  but  he  shall  not  escape  the  chastisement 
which  is  his  due.'* 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SOAIETniNS    OP   HARLEY,    VIOLA,    AND   LANGEE. 

All  the  events  I  have  described  as  taking  place  after 
my  entrance  into  the  Council  House,  had  occupied  but  a 
very  few  minutes  in  reality;  and  as  one  scene  of  horror 
had  been  closely  followed  by  another,  since  my  return  from 
the  mountain,  the  effect  of  the  whole  had  been  in  some 
degree  to  stupefy  my  mental  faculties  and  dull  the  keener 
feelings,  as  blows  repeated  upon  the  body  gradually  be- 
numb it  and  render  it  less  sensible  to  pain. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  describe  the  strange  and 
mingled  emotions  which  I  experienced  as  I  stood  and 
gazed  around  me.  On  the  one  hand  I  had  cause  for 
rejoicing — on  the  other  for  anger,  vexation,  and  sorrow. 
I  had  just  been  deploring  the  hard  fate  which  consigned 
both  Clara  and  mysdf  to  Indian  captivity,  far  away  from 
our  friends,  whom  we  could  not  reasonably  hope  ever  to 
Bee  again ;  and  now  we  both  stood  liberated,  unharmed, 
and  she  was  with  her  father  and  brother,  and  I  had  one 
beside  me  whom  an  hour  before  I  would  almost  have  sac- 
rificed my  right  hand  to  behold;  but  then  again,  I  had 
also  in  a  measure  been  liberated  by  my  worst  enemy — my 
rival ;  a  foul  aspersion  had  been  cast  upon  my  honor,  by 
one  in  whose  eyes  I  had  hoped  at  least  to  stand  well ;  I 
had  been  insulted  in  a  gross  manner,  and  my  life  actually 
attempted  in  a  spirit  of  revenge ;  and  to  crown  all,  she 
who  had  both  now  and  heretofore  saved  my  life  at  the 

(203) 


204  CLARA    MORELAND. 

peril  of  her  own,  had  been  shot  down  like  a  dog,  and  lay 
weltering  in  her  gore  at  my  very  feet. 

Yes,  here  lay  poor  Dundenah,  and  yonder  Langee— ^ 
both  having  died  violent  and  bloody  deaths  within  a  few 
moments  of  each  other — and  to  .both  of  whom,  had  they 
lived,  I  should  have  felt  myself  under  deep  obligations :  to 
the  one  for  having  rescued  me  from  a  horrible  death — to 
the  other  for  having  been  the  means  of  rescuing  me  from 
a  scarce  less  horrible  captivity.  True,  Langee,  in  his 
mad  passion,  had  sought  to  take  my  life  ;  but  this  I  knew 
was  owing  to  my  Indian  costume  and  savage  appearance, 
and  not  to  any  ill-will  which  he  bore  me  personally.  No, 
so  far  from  the  latter  being  the  case,  he  might  be  said  to 
have  lost  his  life  from  a  too  rash  zeal  in  my  cause — for 
had  he  not  gone  to  the  friends  of  Clara,  as  I  requested 
and  urged  him  to  do,  and  returned  to  guide  them  hither, 
he  might  even  now  have  been  in  the  enjoyment  of  life, 
peace,  and  safety. 

While  reflections  like  these  were  passing  through  my 
mind,  Harley  took  hold  of  my  arm,  and  said  : 

"  Come,  my  friend,  let  me  conduct  you  to  the  other  end 
of  the  building — for  here  you  are  in  danger  of  being  mis- 
taken for  an  Indian  by  the  different  parties  that  will  soon 
return  from  the  bloody  chase,  and  you  know  how  narrowly 
you  have  several  times  escaped  with  your  life  already.' 

"My  friend,"  returned  I,  grasping  his  hand — "for  you 
are  my  friend,  and  have  proved  it  in  adversity — God  bless 
you!"  and  so  overcome  was  I  with  various  contending 
emotions,  that  I  burst  into  tears,  and  wept  like  a  child. 

"  Cheer  up,  Harry !  cheer  up,  my  dear  friend !  do  not 
be  cast  down  !"  he  said,  his  own  voice  thick  and  choked; 
while  tears,  that  he  in  vain  tried  to  suppress,  swam  in  his 
;. 
Let  me  weep!"  I  rejoined;  "let  me  weep!  it  may 


HARLET,   YiOLA,   AND   LANGEE.  205 

appear  childish,  but  it  will  relieve  my  aching  heart ;"  and 
impulsively  I  threw  my  arms  around  his  neck,  and  sobbed 
upon  his  breast. 

This  flow  of  tears  indeed  proved  a  great  relief  to  my 
overcharged  soul ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  became  quite 
calm,  and  accompanied  Harley  to  the  other  end  of  the 
building. 

On  our  way,  we  passed  the  corpse  of  Langee — who  was 
lying  where  he  had  fallen — and  also  Colonel  Moreland, 
Clara,  and  Walter,  who  were  grouped  together  at  no  great 
distance,  conversing  earnestly  in  low  tones.  The  eye  of 
Clara,  as  I  passed,  rested  upon  me  with  mournful  tender- 
ness, and  I  could  see  that  she  had  been  weeping ;  but  the 
faces  of  the  Colonel  and  Walter  were  turned  from  me ; 
whether  intentionally  or  not,  I  did  not  know.  I  waved 
my  hand  to  Clara,  and  turning  to  Ilarley,  said  : 

"  It  is  hard  to  be  suspected  of  wrong  by  those  whom 
we  most  desire  should  esteem  us  well !" 

"I  understand  to  what  you  allude,"  returned  my  friend; 
"  but  you  have  an  advocate  in  that  fair  girl  that  will  set 
you  right,  depend  upon  it.  She  loves  you,  Harry — I  can 
see  that;  and  I  am  well  pleased  that  your  choice  has 
fallen  upon  one  so  lovely,  so  sweet  and  amiable,  and  s(? 
every  way  calculated  to  render  you  happy." 

"  Ah  !  Morton,  do  you  know  that  she  is  betrothed  to  this 
villain  Warncliff  ?  and  that  her  father  is  one  not  likely  to 
let  her  forego  the  fulfillment  of  the  pledge  thus  made,  in 
favor  of  another  to  whom  he  has  taken  a  dislike?" 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  this ;  but  do  you  know,  in 
return,  my  dear  Harry,  that  the  plans  of  fathers  are  not 
always  carried  out  ?  and  that  I,  at  least,  have  good  reason 
for  saying  so  ?" 

"My  dear  Morton,"  cried  I,  seizing  his  hand,  "I  crave 
a  thousand  pardons,  for  having  in  my  own  selfish  griefs 

18 


206  CLARA  MORELAND. 

and  vexations  foi  gotten  to  inquire  after  your  dear  partner, 
Yiola  !  I  trust  she  is  well  ?" 

"  May  Heaven  grant  it  to  be  not  otherwise !"  replied 
my  friend,  solemnly.  "I  left  her  well — but  that  was 
Bome  weeks  since." 

"  And  where  did  you  leave  her  ?" 

"In  Galveston." 

"  Indeed  ?  alone  with  strano-ers  ?" 

"No,  her  parents  were  with  her." 

"  Ah  !  then  she  has  seen  her  parents  since  her  marriage  ? 
and  you  have  been  to  Mexico  and  returned?"  said  I, 
quickly. 

"  She  has  seen  her  parents  since  her  marriage — but  we 
have  not  been  to  Mexico,"  replied  Harley.  "Listen  !  and 
you  shall  hear  haw  it  happened.  After  parting  from  you 
at  Galveston,  we  went  to  New  Orleans,  as  you  know,  for 
the  purpose  of  procuring  further  proofs  to  establish  Viola 
as  the  lost  daughter  of  Don  Alverda,  intending  to  return 
immediately  and  have  you  accompany  us  to  the  city  of 
Mexico.  There,  as  you  also  know,  I  received  a  letter  from 
home,  stating  that  my  father  was  very  ill  and  not  expected 
to  live.  Having  procured  the  proofs — which  we  did  with- 
out difficulty — we  set  out  for  Macon,  Georgia.  I  found 
my  father  alive,  but  in  a  very  feeble  state ;  and  as  it  was 
altogether  probable  that  he  would  not  recover,  we  thought 
it  better  to  remain  at  home  a  few  weeks." 

"And  did  he  recover?"  interrupted  I. 

"No,"  said  Harley,  sadly;  "he  lingered  along  till 
winter  set  in,  and  then  paid  the  great  debt  of  nature. 
Meantime,  I  had  introduced  Viola  to  my  friends,  giving 
them  a  brief  account  of  her  history.  On  learning  she  was 
not  the  daughter  of  St.  Auburn,  they  gave  her  a  cordial 
reception,  and  her  attractive  manners  soon  made  her  a 
favorite.     My  father  blessed  the  union,  and  received  he/ 


A 


VIOLA,   AND  LANGEE.  207 


as  his  daughter ;  and  she  so  won  upon  his  affections,  that 
toward  the  last  he  could  not  bear  to  have  her  out  of  his 
sight;  and  declared,  with  the  peevishness  of  sickness,  that 
no  one  could  wait  upon  him  so  well  as  she." 

"  But  her  parents  V*  again  interrupted  I. 

"Ay,  ay — I  am  coming  to  them — only  have  a  little 
patience.  Well,  when  I  found  my  stay  in  Macon  was 
likely  to  be  prolonged  to  an  indefinite  point  of  time,  I 
wrote  a  letter  to  Don  Juan  Gomez  Alverda,  enclosing  one 
from  Viola,  wherein  we  gave  the  statement  made  by  the 
dying  St.  Auburn,  together  with  several  other  important 
matters,  and  requested  an  answer  as  to  whether  he  felt 
disposed,  from  the  proofs  which  we  could  produce,  to 
acknowledge  Viola  as  his  daughter  ? 

"  In  due  course  of  time  a  letter  arrived,  from  both  the 
Don  and  his  lady,  in  which  they  expressed  their  joy  in  the 
most  extravagant  terms,  and  declared  themselves  ready  to 
receive  her  with  open  arms  without  any  proof  whatever. 
My  father-in-law's  letter — for  so  I  may  now  safely  call 
him — further  stated,  that  having  some  business  at  New 
Orleans,  he  and  his  lady  should  set  out  immediately  for 
that  city,  and  hoped  to  meet  us  there. 

"  To  cut  my  story  short,  we  did  meet  there ;  but  you 
must  imagine  the  joyful  emotions  produced  by  that  meet- 
ing, of  which  words  are  inadequate  to  convey  any  thing 
more  than  a  cold  idea.  Such  embracing — such  shedding 
of  tears — such  transports  of  joy  you  never  saw ;  and  my 
only  regret  was,  that  you,  my  dear  friend,  were  not  there 
to  witness  it." 

"Thank  you!"  said  I;  and  the  words  came  from  my 
heart. 

"  I  was  delighted  with  my  new  parents.  Don  Alverda 
is  a  fine,  noble-looking  man,  and  a  true  Spanish  gentleman , 
and  Donna  Clarinda  is   a   most   lovely,  sweet-tempered, 


I 


> 


208  CLARA  MORELAND. 


estimable  lady,  of  whom  I  can  convey  no  better  idea  than 
to  say  there  is  a  marked  resemblance  between  her  and 
Viola — so  much  so,  that  it  is  almost  a  wonder  the  relation 
ship  was  not  discovered  sooner. 

"  The  parents  of  Viola  insisting  that  we  should  return 
with  them,  we  prepared  accordingly,  and  set  out  on  our 
journey,  going  by  the  way  of  Galveston,  in  the  hope  of 
finding  and  prevailing  on  you  to  accompany  us.  I  had 
not  heard  from  you  for  a  long  time,  and  wondered  at  your 
silence;  and  twice,  within  as  many  weeks,  I  wrote  to 
Galveston,  begging  you  to  inform  me  of  your  whereabouts. 
Of  course  I  got  no  answer ;  and  when  I  arrived  there,  I 
found,  by  inquiry,  that  my  letters  to  your  address  had  not 
been  taken  from  the  post-office. 

"  In  your  letter  to  me,  dated  at  the  Tremont  House — 
and  the  only  one,  in  fact,  I  have  ever  received  from  you — 
you  stated  that  you  had  met  the  brother  of  Clara,  was 
much  pleased  with  him,  and  that  you  had  accepted  an 
invitation  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  father's  residence  in 
Houston.  This  then  was  the  only  clue  for  tracing  you ; 
and  feeling  deeply  anxious  to  learn  what  had  become  of 
you,  I  prevailed  upon  my  father-in-law  to  delay  his  journey 
for  a  few  days ;  and  leaving  Viola  and  her  parents  at  the 
hotel,  I  took  a  steamer  for  Houston. 

"  I  found  the  family  of  Colonel  Moreland  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement.  They  had  just  received  a  mysterious 
note,  in  which  the  writer  stated  that  their  daughter,  and  a 
young  man  in  her  company,  together  with  himself,  had 
been  captured  by  the  Indians,  from  whom  he  had  recently 
made  his  escape ;  that  he  had  reason  to  think  the  girl  was 
still  alive — a  prisoner — though  he  feared  her  companion 
had  been  put  to  death ;  and  he  concluded  by  saying,  that 
in  exactly  four  weeks  from  the  date  of  the  note,  he  would 
j-crsonally  appear ;  and  that  if  a  large  party,  well  armed 


HARLEY,   VIOLA,   AND  LANGEE.  209 


and  mounted,  were  in  readiness  to  go  in  search  of  the  girl, 
he  would  accompany  them  as  guide. 

"As  I  said,  I  found  the  family  in  great  agitation  on 
account  of  this  mysterious  note,  which  bore  date  without 
signature,  and  had  been  properly  addressed  through  the 
city  post-office,  indicating  that  the  writer  had  placed  it 
there  with  his  own  hand.  It  was  the  first  news,  direct  or 
indirect,  which  they  had  received  of  one  they  had  already 
mourned  as  lost  to  them  forever ;  and  they  were  in  a  statQ 
of  the  most  intense  excitement,  not  knowing  whether  to 
credit  the  statement  of  the  writer  or  not. 

"Why,  when  he  was  so  near,  had  he  not  appeared  to 
give  his  account  orally,  instead  of  adopting  a  mode  o>f  com- 
munication so  likely  to  be  disbelieved  and  disregarded? 
But  then  again,  would  any  one  who  intended  it  as  a  piece 
of  deception,  be  likely  to  adopt  so  flimsy  an  invention  ? 

"  Thus  was  the  matter  argued  pro  and  con ;  but  hope, 
which  is  ever  ready  to  take  root  in  uncertainty,  sprung  up 
in  the  minds  of  all ;  and  it  was  finally  resolved  that  a 
party  should  be  in  readiness  to  set  out  with  the  Unknown, 
in  the  event  of  his  making  his  appearance  at  the  time 
specified. 

"  To  this  measure  I  lent  my  counsel,  and  determined  to 
be  one  of  the  party;  for  though  the  unknown  writer 
intimated  the  probability  of  your  having  been  put  to  death, 
yet  the  whole  rested  on  uncertainty ;  and  something 
whispered  me  that  you  might  still  be  living ;  and  affection 
and  duty  both  urged  me  to  go  in  search  of  a  friend  who 
had  done  so  much  for  me. 

"  I  accordingly  returned  to  Galveston,  and  communi- 
cated the  whole  affair  to  Viola  and  her  parents,  at  the 
same  time  stating  my  intention  of  going  in  quest  of  you. 
Viola  shed  many  tears,  both  at  the  thought  of  your  hard 
fate,  and  the  idea  of  parting  with  me  for  so  long  a  period ; 
14  18* 


210  CLARA  MOREL  AND. 


but,  like  the  noble  woman  sbe  is,  she  said  that  it  was  cer 
tainlj  ray  duty  to  go — that  you  had  saved  her  life  at  the 
peril  of  your  own,  and  that  I  owed  this  effort  on  your 
behalf  to  the  unselfish  friendship  of  the  past." 

"  God  bless  her !"  said  I,  fervently ;  "  she  is  indeed  a 
,noble  woman,  and  an  ornament  to  her  sex." 

Tears  filled  the  eyes  of  my  friend ;  but  hastily  brushing 
them  away,  as  if  ashamed  of  such  weakness,  he  resumed : 

"  I  now  found  that  our  parting  must  indeed  be  for  a 
considerable  period;  for  my  father-in-law  said  that  busi- 
ness of  importance  would  require  his  immediate  return  to 
the  city  of  Mexico ;  besides  which,  each  day's  delay 
would  probably  render  the  journey  more  difficult,  owing  to 
the  unsettled  state  of  the  country,  which  is  on  the  very 
eve  of  an  open  rupture  with  the  United  States." 

"Ha!"  said  I;  "then  the  war  fever  has  not  died 
away  ?" 

"So  far  from  it,"  replied  Harley,  "that  each  account 
received  is  of  a  more  warlike  character;  and  General 
Taylor,  when  last  heard  from,  was  on  the  point  of  remo- 
ving his  army  and  head- quarters  to  the  Rio  Grande, 
where  it  is  expected  the  Mexicans  will  give  him  battle. 
In  fact,  the  bloody  contest  may  have  begun  already,  for  any 
thjng  I  know  to  the  contrary.  But  to  return  to  my  story, 
which  I  must  make  as  brief  as  possible ;  for  I  perceive 
that  the  different  parties,  who  have  been  in  chase  of  the 
fugitives,  are  beginning  to  gather  at  the  door  yonder,  and 
we  may  soon  be  interrupted. 

"  Well,  I  took  leave  of  Viola  and  her  parents — and  a 
hard  parting  it  was — and  returned  to  Houston.  When  I 
got  back  to  Colonel  Moreland's,  I  w^as  informed  that 
one  Warncliff — who,  to  my  surprise,  I  learned  was  an 
accepted  suitor  of  Clara's — wishing  to  have  the  honor  of 
rescuing  his  affianced  bride,  had  volunteered  to  raise  a 


HARLEY,   YIOLA,   AND   LANGEE.  211 

party  to  go  in  quest  of  her,  and  was  now  absent  for  this 
purpose — the  Colonel  giving  as  a  reason  for  his  going 
away  from  home,  that  most  of  the  men  in  that  vicinity, 
who  might  have  been  enlisted  in  such  an  expedition  at  any 
time  previous  to  the  present,  had  gone  off  to  join  Taylor 
as  volunteers  in  the  approaching  struggle,  and  that 
AVarn^iff  had  friends  away  on  whom  he  could  depend. 

"  On  the  day  appointed  by  the  Unknown,  Warncliff 
appeared  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  at  the  head  of 
some  thirty  cut-throat  looking  fellows,  all  well  mounted 
and  armed  to  the  teeth ;  and  about  an  hour  later,  a  tall, 
lank,  cadaverous,  big-boned  personage  was  seen  approach- 
ing the  mansion.  On  coming  up  to  where  we  were  stand- 
ing, he  merely  said,  in  an  indifferent  tone : 

"  *  Well,  I  see  you  are  ready — so  am  I.' 

"  That  personage  was  the  one  who  is  now  lying  there, 
and  whom  you,  if  I  remember  rightly,  called  Langee. 

"  Well,  after  some  very  close  questioning  on  our  part, 
it  was  decided  that  we  should  set  off  with  this  mysterious 
being — though  I  had  my  misgivings  about  his  sanity,  and 
I  think  the  others  had  also.  However,  as  events  have 
turned  out,  it  is  certain  he  was  no  impostor ;  though  I  must 
say  that  the  following  of  such  a  guide  for  three  weeks, 
in  an  unknown  country,  not  knowing  at  what  moment  we 
might  be  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  an  overwhelming 
body  of  savages,  has  been  no  very  pleasant  task  on  my 
part,  whatever  it  may  have  been  to  the  others." 

"And  have  you  been  three  weeks  on  this  journey?" 
inquired  I. 

"  Nearly  so — this  is  the  eighteenth  day  smce  our  leav- 
ing Houston.  However,  it  can  scarcely  be  said  that  we 
travelled  yesterday ;  for  after  a  three  hours'  ride,  our 
guide  led  us  into  a  thicket,  where  we  encamped  and 
remained  in  concealment,  while  he  went  forward  on  foot 


212  CLARA  MORELAND. 

to  reconnoitre.  About  midnight  last  night  he  returned, 
and  reported  that  he  had  penetrated  the  village  of  the 
Wepecoolahs  ;  that  the  chief  and  most  of  his  warriors 
were  away  on  some  distant  expedition  ;  and  that  the  girl 
we  were  seeking  ws>-s  living,  and  would  be  found  in  the 
lodge  of  the  chief;  but  that  the  young  man  he  feared  had 
been  put  to  death. 

"  After  a  brief  consultation,  it  was  decided  that  we 
should  leave  our  horses  where  they  were,  and  set  off 
on  foot.  We  did  so — the  distance  being  about  ten  miles. 
It  is  needless  to  add  more — you  know  the  rest — at  least 
enough  of  it." 

"  I  do,"  said  I.  "  Such  hellish  vindictiveness  as  has 
Deen  here  displayed,  is  more  worthy  of  the  savages  them- 
selves than  of  men  born  in  a  Christian  land." 

"  You  must  not  look  to  find  sympathy  for  the  savage 
among  those  who,  living  on  the  frontiers,  have  only  to 
recall  some  bloody  encroachment  of  their  painted  neigh- 
bors, to  steel  their  hearts  against  any  thing  like  com- 
passion." 

"  Well,  let  them  take  bloody  retribution  on  the  aggres- 
sors— on  the  warriors  themselves,"  said  I;  "but  not  de- 
liberately murder  defenceless  women  and  children." 

"  Ay,  it  is  easy  for  us  to  say  this,  who  have  been 
brought  up  in  a  country  so  remote  from  border  warfare 
that  we  think  rather  of  the  wrongs  the  Indian  has  suffered 
than  of  his  aggressions ;  but  only  let  us  live  where  the 
tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  are  yearly  made  red  with  the 
blood  of  some  of  our  dearest  friends — imagine  such  friends 
a  wife  and  children — and  we  might  soon  become  as  callous 
to  pity  as  any,  and  only  desire  to  see  the  red-race  extermi- 
nated, root  and  branch.  Do  not  understand  me,  my  dear 
Harry,  as  seeking  to  defend  this  atrocious  slaughter ;  but 
tather  as  showing  the  causes  which  lead  to  an  approval 


HARLEY,   VIOLA,   AND   LANGEE.  213 

of  bloody  cruelty.  But  aside  from  this,  I  think  the  pre- 
Bent  party  would  be  cruel  under  any  circumstances ;  and 
if  these  are  the  friends  of  WarnclifF,  as  the  Colonel  inti^ 
mated,  it  is  my  private  opinion  he  keeps  the  very  worst 
company  in  the  world.  I  have  my  suspicions,  too,"  added 
Harley,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Ila  !  what  ?"  inquired  I,  eagerly. 

"  Hush  !  here  comes  the  Colonel." 

"  Mr.  Walton,"  said  Colonel  Moreland,  advancing  to 
me,  and  speaking  in  a  dry,  stiff,  formal  manner,  "  I  have 
been  holding  some  conversation  with  my  daughter,  and, 
in  consequence,  am  led  to  believe  that  I  wrongly  accused 
you  of  betraying  the  trust  I  reposed  in  you,  and  therefore 
do  hereby  retract  my  words,  and  offer  you  a  further 
apology  for  my  rudeness."  • 

"Which  I  gladly  accept,"  returned  I,  "  and  sincerely 
rejoice  that  I  no  longer  stand  dishonored  in  your  esteem." 

"  I  would  say  further,"  resumed  the  Colonel,  with  a 
freezing  air,  that  instantly  chilled  all  the  warmth  of  feeling 
on  my  part,  which  the  prospect  of  reconciliation  had  at 
first  produced ;  "  I  would  say  further,  Mr.  Walton,  that 
your  negro  Tom  (I  started  at  the  mention  of  the  name, 
and  felt  a  twinge  of  conscience  that  I  should  have  neg- 
lected all  this  while  to  inquire  after  the  poor  fellow,  whom 
I  loved  almost  as  a  brother,)  remained  at  my  house  some 
two  months,  during  which  time  I  wrote  to  your  father — " 

"  Ha  !  then  he  knows  of  my  misfortune  ?"  interrupted  I. 

"  And  in  due  course  of  time  received  an  answer,"  con- 
tinued the  Colonel,  as  though  I  had  not  spoken,  "  which 
caused  Tom  to  pack  up  your  things,  and,  with  your 
baggage,  set  off  for  home." 

"  Then  Tom  has  gone  home  with  my  baggage  ?"  said  I. 
'*  This  is  unlucky- -for  now  I  have  neth->r  m<  vay  nor 
;lothes." 


214  CLARA    MORELAND. 


"  I  have  enough  for  both,  Harry — never  mind,"  inter 
posed  Harlej. 

"  I  was  about  to  add,"  pursued  the  Colonel,  in  the  same 
frigid  tone,  "  that  having  been  much  inconvenienced — • 
and,  as  I  may  safely  say,  on  my  account,  since  at  my  re- 
quest you  set  off  with  Clara — any  thing  that  I  can  do  in 
the  way  of  compensation,  command  me." 

"  All  that  I  would  ask  in  return.  Colonel  Moreland," 
said  I,  "is  that  I  may  be  esteemed  a  friend  of  your 
family." 

The  Colonel  hesitated,  hemmed,  and  replied : 

"  As  a  friend  of  the  family^  Mr.  Walton,  I  see  no  par- 
ticular objection ;  but  to  be  brief,  as  I  am  a  plain  man  of 
few  words,  I  think  it  best  it  should  be  understood  that 
there  is  to  be  no  relationship.'' 

I  felt  the  blood  mount  to  my  very  temples,  and  was 
about  to  make  a  reply  that  I  might  afterward  have 
regretted,  when  the  voice  of  Warncliff  was  heard  calling 
Colonel  Moreland,  who,  glad  to  escape  probably,  made  a 
stiff  bow  and  strode  away. 

*'  Be  calm,  my  friend,"  said  Harley,  taking  my  hand ; 
"  be  calm,  Harry ;  he  has  apologized,  that  is  something ; 
keep  quiet,  and  let  events  take  their  course.  Fate  will  do 
its  work,  do  what  you  may." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

BRUTALITY  AND   SUSPICION. 

Warnclifp's  party  having  now  returned — at  least  all 
that  ever  would  return,  for  some  five  or  six  had  heen  killed 
in  the  affray — it  was  speedily  decided  that  we  should  leave 
the  village  without  delay,  as  there  was  no  knowing  what 
moment  the  chief  and  his  warriors  might  get  hack  from 
their  expedition ;  and  should  we  be  followed,  while  our 
trail  was  yet  fresh,  there  was  no  telling  what  might  be  the 
consequences.  All  therefore  soon  became  confusion — the 
men  seeking  the  deserted  cabins  for  plunder,  and  stripping 
the  dead  of  such  of  their  apparel  as  they  fancied  might 
prove  of  any  value  hereafter. 

It  was  my  wish,  and  Clara's  also — whom  I  sought  out 
in  the  confusion  and  found  weeping — that  poor  Dundenah 
should  at  least  have  decent  interment;  and  getting  Walter 
to  join  Harley  and  myself,  we  hastened  to  the  corpse,  and 
were  about  to  remove  it,  when  Warncliff  appeared,  and  in 
an  insolent  tone  demanded  to  know  what  we  were  about 
to  do  with  that Indian. 

"  It  is  the  desire  of  Clara  and  ourselves,"  replied  Wal- 
ter, reddening,  "  that  this  poor  girl— who,  whatever  her 
faults,  proved  a  true  friend  to  the  captives — should  have 
decent  burial." 

"  And  do  you  not  account  the  assassination  of  our 
guide,  and  this,'-  he  cried,  fiercely,  holding  up  his  arm, 
which  was  now  bandaged,  "  an  offset  to  all  the  good  she 
ever  did  ?" 

"  But  she  paid  for  all  that  with  her  life,"  put  in  Harley. 

(216) 


216  CLARA    MORELAND. 

" 'Tis  false!"  cried  Warncliff,  fiercely:  "the  lives  of 
fifty  such  wenches  would  be  no  equivalent  for  the  death  of 
one  white  man,  to  say  nothing  of  her  attempt  upon  my 
own  life." 

"In  proper  time  and  place,"  returned  Harley,  pale 
with  anger,  which  he  strove  to  keep  under  control,  "your 
insolence  shall  be  met  with  proper  chastisement." 

"This  to  me?"  fairly  yelled  Warncliff,  his  features 
contorted  with  passion. 

"  Come,  come,"  interposed  Walter,  "  let  there  be  no 
quarreling  here.  You  know,  Willard,  my  father  has 
expressly  forbidden  it." 

"Umph!"  sneered  the  other:  "JT  command  here — not 
your  father." 

Again  Walter  reddened — but  merely  said  : 

"Well,  well,  never  mind — let  us  proceed  with  the 
corpse." 

"No,"  said  Warncliff,  " it  goes  not  hence !" 

"But  it  is  Clara's  wish.'- 

"  It  should  not  leave  the  building  even  if  it  were  your 
father's  wish." 

"  Eh !  what  is  the  dispute  ?"  said  the  Colonel,  who 
entered  the  door  behind  Warncliff  just  in  time  to  hear  the 
last  remark. 

Walter  explained. 

"Why,  Willard,"  said  the  Colonel,  "there  is  nothing 
unreasonable  in  this  wish  of  Clara's ;  for  whatever  harm 
the  girl  might  have  intended  to  do  you,  she  was  certainly 
the  preserver  of  the  life  and  honor  of  my  daughter,  and 
as  such  I  also  could  wish  to  see  proper  respect  paid  to  her 
remains." 

"Well,"  answered  Warncliff,  sulkily,  "I  have  said  she 
should  not  have  more  respect  paid  to  her  dead  carcass 
than  is  paid  to  the  rest  of  her  accursed  tribe ;  and  I'll 


BRUTALITY  AND   SUSPICION.  217 

make  my  words  good  ;  and  unless  you,  Colonel  Moreland, 
wish  to  get  yourself  embroiled  in  an  unnecessary  quarrel, 
you  will  not  interfere." 

"  He  that  would  treat  with  disrespect  the  dead,  even 
though  the  body  be  that  of  a  bitter  foe,  is  a  coward  and 
no  gentleman!"  cried  Clara,  indignantly,  who  had  silently 
joined  the  group  during  the  discussion. 

Warncliff  turned  fiercely*toward  her ;  and  there  was  a 
Bomething  so  wicked  in  the  expression  of  his  features,  that 
I  involuntarily  shuddered,  and  Clara  shrunk  back  as  if 
alarmed.  Nothing  further  passed  between  them,  however 
— for  the  Colonel  interposed,  addressing  his  daughter 
Bternly. 

"  Silence  !  girl,"  he  said,  "and  retire  !"  and  as  Clara, 
obedient,  moved  away,  he  turned  to  Warncliff.  "  And  as 
for  you,  sir,"  he  continued,  "being  the  commander  of  this 
party,  you  will  please  to  have  your  own  way  for  the  pre- 
sent ;  but  I  am  one  not  likely  to  forget  in  what  manner  I 
have  been  treated  by  one  I  have  heretofore  esteemed  a 
gentleman." 

"  And  would  you  insinuate — "  began  Warncliff. 

"No!"  interrupted  the  Colonel — "I  would  insinuate 
nothing — for  what  I  believe,  I  make  a  point  to  speak 
boldly.  But  let  the  matter  drop  for  the  present — I  am  in 
no  humor  for  a  wrangle.  Nay,"  he  added,  as  he  saw 
Warncliff  about  to  reply,  "  by  the  memory  of  your  father, 
who  was  my  friend,  I  charge  you  not  to  answer  me  now  ?" 
and  turning  on  his  heel  he  strode  away. 

At  this  moment  several  of  Warncliff's  men,  having  heard 
high  words  between  their  leader  and  others,  began  to  enter 
the  building,  headed  by  the  ruffian  Tom.  They  were  cer- 
tainly a  cut-throat  looking  set;  and  their  garments  and 
persons  bore  tokens  of  the  recent  affray — the  former  being 
rent  in  many  places,  and  both  more  or  less  bloody.  . 

19 


218  CLARA  MORELAND. 

"  What's  the  row,  Cap'en  ?"  said  Tom,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other,  and  addressing  WarnclifF. 

"  Why,  these  gentlemen^''  answered  the  latter,  with  a 
sneer,  emphasising  the  italicised  word,  "are  anxious  to 
pay  more  respect  to  the  remains  of  this  squaw  (pointing 
to  the  corpse  of  poor  Dundenah)  than  to  those  who  have 
freely  shed  their  blood  in  their  cause.  In  short,  they  wish 
to  give  her  Christian  burial." 

Tom  ripped  out  an  oath,  exclaiming : 

"  And  you  going  to  let  'em,  Cap'en  ?" 

"  No,  not  if  my  men  stand  by  me." 

"  Let's  see  the  one  that  won't,"  said  Tom,  savagely. 
"  You're  not  agoing  to  do  it,"  he  continued,  scowling  at 
us.     "  Pick  her  up,  boys,  (to  others  of  his  party)  and  take 

her  further  inside  ;  and  then  we'll  fire  this old  shanty, 

and  that'll  end  the  muss." 

It  would  have  been  madness  for  us  to  resist  a  force  ten 
times  our  own,  and  we  knew  it;  therefore  we  prudently 
relinquished  our  design,  and  quitted  the  building,  the 
Colonel  and  his  daughter  immediately  following. 

"Poor  Dundenah!"  sighed  Clara;  "luckily  thou  art 
beyond  feeling  the  further  brutality  of  these  ruffians — for 
I  can  call  them  by  no  milder  term." 

The  sun  was  now  above  the  hills — but  it  here  shone 
upon  a  scene  of  human  butchery  and  desolation,  at  which 
the  heart  not  steeled  to  pity  sickened. 

"  This,  I  trust,  will  prove  the  crowning  act  of  this 
bloody  business,"  said  Harley  to  me;  and  he  pointed  to 
several  of  the  cabins,  from  which  smoke  now  began  to 
issue  simultaneously,  while  parties  of  the  incendiaries 
were  seen  running  to  and  fro,  carrying  burning  brands, 
and  removing  such  articles  as  they  thought  might  be  of 
use  to  them. 

Colonel  Moreland  now  withdrew  from  the  common  with 


BRUTALITY   AND   SUSPICION.  219 


his  daughter,  and  Morton,  Walter  and  I  followed.  In  a 
few  minutes  we  were  joined  by  Warncliff  and  his  men — . 
the  latter,  most  of  them,  loaded  with  articles  of  plunder, 
a  portion  of  which  were  sacks  of  skins  filled  with  corn. 

"  Come,"  said  Warncliff,  in  a  surly  tone,  "  we  have  no 
more  time  to  spare  in  sentimental  delay ;"  and  he  set  off 
down  the  valley,  we  all  following  in  an  irregular  manner. 

Soon  we  came  to  a  bend  of  the  hills,  on  turning  which 
the  village  of  the  Wepecoolahs  would  be  hid  from  our  view. 
Here  we  all  halted  to  take  a  last  look  of  the  work  of 
destruction  behind  us.  The  village  was  one  bright  sheet 
of  fire,  and  we  could  distinctly  hear  the  roar  of  the  flames, 
as  they  raged  with  fury  above  the  combustible  roofs  of  the 
different  huts.  Conspicuous  over  all  was  the  Council 
House,  which  at  this  moment  was  smoking  dismally,  the 
turf  outside  preventing  the  fire  from  getting  the  same 
headway  which  it  had  acquired  over  its  smaller  and  more 
combustible  neighbors.  But  as  I  looked,  its  earthen 
covering  gradually  crumbled  away,  and  then  it  stood 
a  skeleton  building  wrapped  in  flames.  Presently  the 
whole  fabric  sunk  down  with  a  crash,  and  a  thousand  red 
cinders  shot  up  into  the  bright  sunlight,  above  the  mortal 
remains  of  poor  Dundenah  and  Langee,  who  had  been  so 
mysteriously  connected  in  life  and  in  death. 

I  involuntarily  sighed  as  I  thought  of  the  fate  of  poor 
Dundenah  ;  but  I  had  little  else  to  regret ;  for  my  treat- 
ment among  the  savages — aside  from  Omema  and  the 
daughter  of  Kenneloo — had  not  been  such  as  to  enlist  my 
sympathies  for  them  beyond  the  wish  that  a  wanton 
and  unnecessary  sacrifice  of  life,  particularly  of  women 
and  children,  had  not  been  made.  As  for  Kenneloo  and 
his  ferocious  warriors,  I  little  cared  what  might  be  their 
feelings  when  they  should  return  from  their  hostile  expe- 
;lition  against  the  frontiers  of  Texas  and  find  their  vil- 


220  CLARA  MOREL  AND. 

lage  a  heap  of  ruins.  It  seemed,  in  my  view,  rather  like 
a  just  retribution  for  their  own  aggressive,  inhuman  acts, 
and  a  verifying  of  the  holy  text,  that  "  He  who  sows  the 
wind  shall  reap  the  whirlwind."  Nor  could  I  gainsay 
that  in  the  slaughter  of  the  innocent — if  any  who  had 
fallen  might  be  so  termed — they  had  justly  felt  the  aveng- 
ing hand  of  Him  whose  finger  had  written  upon  tablets 
of  stone,  thousands  of  years  before,  that  "  The  iniquities 
of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  the  children,  even  to 
the  third  and  fourth  generation" — a  doom  that  even  those 
who  profanely  deny  it  the  great  attribute  of  justice, 
cannot  deny  has  sacred  fulfillment. 

With  these  reflections  I  turned  away,  to  behold  the 
home  of  the  Wepecoolahs  no  more. 

A  walk  of  some  three  hours  brought  us  to  the  horses 
of  the  party,  which  were  found  in  the  thicket  where  they 
had  remained  through  the  night.  We  here  made  a 
frugal  repast  on  rather  coarse  fare,  but  which  to  me  was 
rendered  palatable  by  reason  of  hunger.  Harley  now 
furnished  me  with  an  over-coat,  and  for  a  want  of  a  cap  I 
tied  a  handkerchief  over  my  shaved  crown.  This,  while 
it  rendered  me  more  comfortable,  and  gave  me  more  of  a 
civilized  look,  added  so  much  of  the  ludicrous  to  my  ap- 
pearance, that  all  who  beheld  me  were  excited  to  laughter. 
This  did  not  annoy  me,  however ;  but  the  dirty  paint  on 
toy  face  did ;  and  I  took  an  early  opportunity  of  removing 
the  greater  portion  of  it  at  a  neighboring  stream. 

There  was  no  want  of  horses;  for,  as  I  said  before, 
several  of  WarnclifF's  men  had  been  killed  in  the  affray. 
Two  of  these,  thus  deprived  of  their  late  riders,  were 
assigned  to  Clara  and  myself;  and  the  others  were  loaded 
•with  sacks  of  corn,  and  other  plunder,  which  had  been 
brought  from  the  village.  Toward  noon  we  all  mounted 
and  set  out  on  our  long  and  toilsome  journey. 


BRUTALITY   AND   SUSPICION.  221 

As  a  monotonous  detail  of  our  daily  progress,  aside 
from  such  incidents  as  do  not  form  concomitants  to  a 
similar  journey  in  the  wilderness,  would  be  more  likely  to 
weary  than  interest  the  reader,  I  shall  omit  it,  and  hasten 
to  bring  forward  scenes  and  circumstances  more  worthy 
of  his  attention. 

Let  it  8ufl5ce,  therefore,  to  say,  that  for  eight  or  ten 
days  we  made  slow  but  fatiguing  marches,  over  upland  and 
prairie,  through  forests  and  across  streams,  without 
meeting  with  any  adventures  worth  recording. 

During  this  period  I  scarcely  exchanged  a  dozen  words 
with  Colonel  Moreland,  who  was  unusually  reserved  toward 
every  one ;  and  as  he  kept  Clara  almost  constantly  by  his 
side,  night  and  day,  I  seldom  had  an  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing with  her,  except  in  the  presence  of  her  father ;  which, 
under  the  circumstances,  I  did  not  care  to  embrace.  As' 
to  Warncliflf,  I  held  no  communication  with  him  whatever ; 
and  I  saw  without  regret  that  he  studiously  kept  himself 
aloof  from  all  save  his  ruffianly  band,  with  whom  he  from 
time  to  time  conferred.  As  a  general  thing,  he  rode  at  the 
head  of  his  troop  in  sullen  silence — or,  if  he  spoke  at  all, 
addressed  himself  to  Tom,  who  appeared  to  hold  the  posi- 
tion of  second  commander  or  Lieutenant. 

I  say  I  saw  this  studied  reserve  without  regret ;  for  it 
seemed  to  widen  the  breach  between  him  and  the  Colonel, 
and  left  Clara  unmolested ;  and  I  reasoned  from  this  that 
the  engagement  between  them  would  eventually  be  broken 
off  altogether ;  for  the  Colonel  was  a  man  not  likely  to 
urge  his  daughter  to  wed  with  one  to  whom  he  had  him- 
self taken  a  dislike. 

One  eve,  when  we  had  encamped  as  usual  on  the  borders 
of  a  wood  and  prairie,  near  a  little  stream,  I  noticed  that 
the  Colonel  looked  long  and  anxiously  at  the  setting  sun, 
and,  as  it  sunk  below  the  horizon,  turned  away,  and  sought 

19* 


222  CLARA   M^RELAND. 

out  Warncliff,  "who  was  engaged  in  giving  some  directions 
about  the  horses.  I  chanced  to  be  in  such  proximity,  that 
I  could  overhear  what  passed  between  them. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Warncliff,"  said  the  Colonel, 
rather  coldly,  "  that  you  have  missed  your  way." 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Warncliff,  dryly,  glancing 
significantly  at  Tom,  who  was  standing  near.* 

"  Judging  from  thp  time  we  have  been  on  the  journey, 
and  the  rate  at  which  we  have  travelled,  we  should  be  now 
at  Fort  Houston,  or  in  its  immediate  vicinity,"  replied  the 
Colonel;  "unless,  as  I  fear,  you  have  taken  a  more 
westerly  course." 

"We  have  taken  a  more  westerly  course,"  rejoined 
VYarncliff,  sententiously. 

"  May  I  know  for  what  reason  ?"  inquired  the  Colonel, 
a  little  sharply,  evidently  more  irritated  by  this  reply  than 
he  wished  to  have  appear. 

"Because  it  suited  my  inclination  to  do  so,"  answered 
Warncliff,  surlily. 

"  But  it  does  not  suit  my  inclination  to  do  so,"  rejoined 
the  Colonel,  quickly. 

"  That  may  be ;  but  who  commands  this  party,  you  or 
I  ?"  said  the  other,  in  an  insolent  tone. 

"  You  command  your  own  men,  of  course." 

"Then  I  trust  I  may  take  such  direction  as  I  see 
proper." 

"But  I  am  not  bound  to  follow  you,"  replied  the 
Colonel,  angrily. 

"No,"  said  Warncliff;  "you  can  withdraw  from  our 
protection  if  you  like,  and  get  scalped  for  your  wisdom." 

"  Sir  !"  began  the  Colonel,  in  a  fierce  tone. 

"No  more!"  interrupted  Warncliff,  haughtily.  "Jam 
in  no  mood  to  be  dictated  to  by  the  father  of  a  girl  who 
openly  professes  to  hate  me!"  and  turning  upon  his  heel, 


BRUTALITY  AND   SUSPICION.  223 

he  strode  away  to  Tom,  with  whom  he  entered  into  con- 
versation. 

The  Colonel  looked  after  him  for  a  short  time,  his  face 
red  with  anger;  and  then  biting  his  lips,  as  if  to  keep 
down  his  rage,  he  walked  slowly  hack  to  Clara,  and  I 
fancied  I  could  hear  him  mutter  to  himself: 

**  Insolent  puppy  !  he  shall  pay  dearly  for  this  !" 

What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  what  new  rascality  is 
now  afoot?  I  soliloquized;  and  seeking  out  Harley,  I 
communicated  to  him  what  I  had  just  overheard. 

"  I  have  thought  for  some  time  that  all  was  not  going 
right,"  he  replied;  "  and  now  I  am  certain  of  it.  I  fear, 
Harry,  we  have  only  got  out  of  one  difficulty  to  get  into 
another.  This  Warncliff  is  evidently  a  deep,  designing 
villain,  and  these  rough  fellows  are  completely  under  his 
command." 

'*  But  what  do  you  apprehend?"  inquired  I,  anxiously, 
my  thoughts  instantly  reverting  to  Clara. 

"I  scarcely  k^ow  what  I  apprehend,"  he  replied;  "but 
you  and  I,  at  least,  have  not  now  to  learn  that  persons  of 
-wealth,  and  even  refinement — that  is,  refined  so  far  as 
education  goes — may  be  connected  with  desperadoes  of, 
the  worst  stamp,  especially  here  in  Texas." 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  I,  startled  at  the  suspi- 
cion his  words  excited :  "  Surely,  you  do  not  mean  to 
insinuate  that  these  fellows  are  of  the  same  class  as  those 
with  whom  we  once  became  involved,  and  whom  we  had 
good  reason  to  believe  were  under  the  command  of  that 
villainous  Count  D'Estang  ?" 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  Harley. 

"  Why  not  ?"  echoed  I :  "  why—" 

But  I  paused;  for  a  single  moment's  reflection  con- 
vinced me  that  I  had  no  grounds  for  saying  why  not;  and 
the  more  I   reflected,   the  more   I   became  excited   and 


224  CLARA   MORELAND. 

alarmed  at  the  idea.  I  recalled  to  mind  what  Clara  had 
told  me  concerning  WarncliiF;  of  his  known  legitimate 
resources  heing  inadequate  to  his  lavish  expenditure ;  also 
how  he  had  given  out  that  he  was  speculating  in  lands  on 
the  Brazos ;  and  adding  to  this  my  general  knowledge  of 
his  character — my  previous  suspicions  that  he  was  follow- 
ing the  dishonorable  profession  of  a  gambler — and  the 
fact  that  these  very  men,  these  rough,  brutal  fellows, 
whom  he  termed  his  friends,  had  been  raised  away  from 
home,  and  seemed  to  regard  him  rather  as  an  old  than  a 
new  commander — and  I  could  find  nothing  improbable  in 
the  idea  suggested  by  Harley. 

On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  young  man  who,  when  unsus- 
pected, I  had  believed  devoid  of  principle — vain,  arrogant, 
licentious — and  therefore  one  well  fitted  by  nature  to 
embrace  the  first  temptations  offered  of  increasing  his 
pecuniary  resources  without  honest  labor. 

Yes,  the  more  I  pondered  upon  the  matter,  the  more 
ready  was  I  to  believe  that,  so  far  from  t*here  being  any 
thing  improbable  in  his  having  connected  himself  with  a 
band  of  outlaws,  it  seemed  inconsistent  with  his  character 
that  he  should  not  have  done  so,  if  a  proper  opportunity 
and  temptation  had  at  any  time  been  offered  him. 

But  had  he  gone  to  the  rescue  of  Clara  with  the  pre- 
meditated design  of  throwing  off  his  mask  at  the  first  con- 
venient opportunity  ?  I  could  hardly  think  so  ;  but  rather 
that  he  had  so  gone  prepared  for  any  thing  that  might 
happen ;  and  that  his  altercation  with  the  Colonel,  the 
feeling  of  detestation  with  which  he  could  not  but  perceive 
Clara  regarded  him,  combined  with  other  circumstances, 
had  decided  him  to  adopt  this  course;  but  whether  he 
Would  proceed  to  acts  of  violence  against  those  he  had  at 
one  time  esteemed  his  friends,  was  more  than  I  could 


BRUTALITY  AND  SUSPICION.  225 

determine — though  I  had  my  fears,  and  was  not  long  left 
in  doubt. 

After  discussing  the  matter  with  Harlej,  I  grew  so 
uneasy,  that  I  expressed  my  determination  of  communi- 
cating my  suspicions  to  the  Colonel  forthwith,  and  taking 
counsel  with  him  as  to  what  we  had  better  do  under  the 
circumstances  :  but  my  friend  deterred  me. 

"  Let  us  rather  wait  and  watch,"  he  said ;  "  for  as  you 
are  not  a  favorite  of  the  Colonel's,  it  is  more  than  likely 
that  he  would  receive  your  communication  with  coldness 
and  distrust — regard  it  as  an  uncalled-for  interference  on 
your  part — and,  peradventure,  for  there  is  no  calculating 
the  obstinacy  of  a  man  like  him,  might  wilfully  blind  him- 
self to  real  danger,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  had 
been  hinted  at  by  you,  and  consequently  defeat  the  very 
purpose  we  have  in  view.  No,  no — let  matters  take  their 
own  course — but  let  us  be  ready  for  any  emergency.  If 
the  Colonel  sees  any  thing  to  alarm  him,  he  may  seek  our 
counsel ;  and  in  that  case  he  would  be  likely  to  heed  what 
we  say." 

"But  in  the  meantime  we  may  all  have  our  throats 
cut,"  said  I ;  "  and  bear  in  mind,  that  it  is  not  on  the 
Colonel's  account  that  I  would  have  this  interview,  but  on 
Clara's  and  our  own." 

Harley  shook  his  head. 

"  It  will  not  do,"  he  said ;  "  depend  upon  it,  the  result 
would  be  what  I  have  predicted.  And  moreover,  what- 
ever design  "Warncliff  has  in  view,  cutting  our  throats 
forms  no  part  of  it,  or  that  would  have  been  done  long 
ago." 

I  was  far  from  being  satisfied  with  Harley's  reasoning 
and  advice ;  and  took  the  first  opportunity  of  laying  my 
Buspicions  before  "Walter,  who,  having  been  somewhat  inti- 
15 


226  CLARA  MORELAND. 

mate  with  \Tarndiff,  I  thought  would  probably  know  whe- 
ther they  Iiad  any  good  foundation  or  riot. 

He  seemed  struck  with  the  facts  and  my  deductions,  as 
one  after  another  I  brought  them  forward;  and  replied 
that  it  was  possible  my  suspicions  were  just — but  agreed 
with  the  advice  of  Harley,  that  it  were  best  I  should  say 
nothing  to  his  father  about  it,  nor  in  any  manner  make 
WarnclifF  aware  that  he  was  suspected. 

"  We  will  keep  our  own  counsel  for  the  present,"  he 
said,  "  and  watch  Warncliff  closely ;  and  if  we  find  that 
he  is  playing  us  false,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  act — at 
least  so  far  as  we  can  act  in  the  matter — that  is,  put  a 
ball  through  his  head,  and  trust  to  our  power  of  intimi- 
dating the  others.  To-morrow,"  he  continued,  "  I  will 
seize  the  first  favorable  opportunity,  and  talk  the  matter 
over  with  my  father." 

"  But  why  not  to  night?"  said  I,  anxiously. 

"Because  my  father,  according  to  your  showing,  can 
be  in  no  very  amiable  mood ;  and  I  fear  that,  in  the  heat 
of  passion,  he  might  do  that  which  would  be  most  impru- 
dent. To-morrow,  Mr.  Walton — to-morrow  he  shall  know 
all." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  I,  despondingly — "  who  knows  what 
the  morrow  may  bring  forth?" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   CLOVEN  FOOT  VISIBLE. 

When  I  rolled  myself  in  my  blanket  and  laid  down  by 
the  camp  fire  that  night,  I  felt  restless  and  uneasy,  as  if 
some  new  calamity  were  impending.  I  was  fatigued,  but 
could  not  sleep ;  and  for  a  long  time  I  lay  and  watched 
the  ruddy  gleam  of  the  fire,  as  it  flashed  upon  the  over- 
shadowing branches  of  the  wood,  and  upon  the  dark 
human  forms  stretched  around  me — my  thoughts  the  while 
busy  with  the  foul  suspicions  which  the  brief  interview 
between  Warncliflf  and  the  Colonel,  together  with  my  sub- 
Bequent  conversation  with  Harley  and  Walter,  had  excited 
in  my  breast. 

Ilarley  was  lying  next  to  me,  and  was  already  asleep — 
as  apparently  were  most  of  the  others — and  even  those  on 
duty  as  sentinels,  stood  with  their  backs  against  the  trees, 
and  appeared  to  be  nodding.  I  glanced  over  to  where  the 
Colonel,  with  Clara  carefully  wrapped  up  beside  him,  was 
lying  apart  from  the  others;  and  I  could  detect  no 
motion  there  to  show  that  either  was  awake.  If  treachery 
were  intended,  I  finally  reasoned  myself  to  the  conclusion 
that  nothing  would  be  attempted  that  night ;  and  feeling 
greatly  relieved,  my  nerves  gradually  grew  calm  and  I 
grew  drowsy. 

At  last  the  trees  seemed  to  be  nodding  assent  to  a 
curious  moral  lecture  from  the  fire — such  was  my  strange 
fancy — and  with  a  sing-song  sound  in  my  ear  I  passed 
into  a  state  of  forgetfulness. 

How  long  I  slept  soundly,  I  do  not  know ;  but  at  length 
I  began  to  dream  of  Clara.     I  thought  we  were  children 

(227) 


228  CLARA  MORELAND. 

together,  wandering  hand  in  hand  through  a  beautiful 
grove,  beside  a  purling  stream  of  limpid  water,  whose 
gentle  murmur  came  over  our  souls  with  a  soothing  effect. 
Every  thing  was  bright  and  joyous  around  us,  and  we 
were  very  happy  in  the  companionship  of  each  other. 
Suddenly  a  dark  cloud  overshadowed  us  ;  and  looking  up, 
I  saw  a  huge  panther  springing  from  one  of  the  trees. 
Clara  uttered  a  fearful  scream,  and  the  next  moment  was 
struggling  with  the  beast  of  prey,  which  had  alighted  full 
upon  her,  bearing  her  to  the  earth.  Bewildered  and  hor- 
rified, I  was  about  to  rush  to  her  rescue  and  certain 
death,  when  I  felt  myself  seized  in  the  hug  of  a  grizzly 
bear,  and  in  terror  awoke. 

But  I  awoke,  alas  !  to  find  it  not  all  a  jlream ;  for  a 
couple  of  Warncliff's  ruffians  were  stooping  over  me,  in 
the  very  act  of  binding  my  arms. 

"  Villains  !"  I  shouted,  struggling  in  vain  to  rise — 
"  what  means  this  outrage  ?" 

"  Have  a  care,  my  Injen  brother  !"  said  one,  taunt- 
ingly :   "  we  don't  allow  strangers  to  call  us  names." 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  why  are  you 
binding  me  ?  do  you  intend  to  murder  me  ?"  I  cried, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  believe  myself  awake,  or  still 
under  the  pressure  of  a  night-mare. 

"  Keep  your  mouth  shut,  and  don't  bother!"  said  the 
other,  gruffly. 

"Easy,  Harry — easy,"  said  the  voice  of  Harley,  ad- 
dressing me.  *'  We  are  all  prisoners,  and  it  is  useless  to 
struggle  against  fate." 

I  turned  mjr^  head,  and  saw  him  still  lying  on  the  ground 
where  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  a  couple  of  Warncliff's 
fell'ows  bending  over  him. 

"  And  are  they  binding  you  too,  Morton  ?" 

"  Hand  and  foot,  Harry." 

At  this  moment  I  heard  the  voice  of  the  Colonel. 


THE   CLOVEN   FOOT   VISIBLE.  229 

"  You  are  a  villain,  sir  !"  he  fairly  shouted  :  "  a  base, 
treacherous,  damnable  villain!" 

"  Softly,  my  dear  Colonel,"  I  heard  Warncliff  say  in 
reply;  "  softly,  my  dear  sir  !  I  am  only  acting  for  your 
good,  and  it  grieves  me  tc  see  that  my  kindness  is  not 
appreciated.  You  were  meditating  a  withdrawal  from  my 
protection ;  and  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  you 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  savages,  and  your  lovely 
daughter  be  doomed  to  a  second  barbarous  captivity." 

"Oh!  my  daughter!  my  dear  Clara!"  groaned  the 
Colonel :  "  you  have  killed  her  already." 

"  Oh,  no — not  so  bad  as  that,"  returned  Warncliff. 
"  If  you  think  she  is  dead,  I  beg  to  undeceive  you ;  she 
has  only  fainted  ;  and  a  little  water  sprinkled  in  her  face 
will  set  her  all  right." 

"  Fool !  fool !  that  I  am  !  and  dupe  of  my  own  folly !" 
muttered  the  Colonel,  as  if  to  himself. 

"  Well,"  returned  Warncliff,  ironically,  "I  cannot  gain-, 
say  that  you  speak  the  truth  now  ;.for  I  have  been  under  the 
impression,  ever  since  you  sent  your  daughter  off  with  that 
rascally  Virginian,  that  you  are  sadly  deficient  in  wisdom." 

"Away  with  you!"  cried  the  other,  vehemently:  "my 
eyes  loathe  the  sight  of  you !  You  must  be  an  ill-begotten 
child,  for  your  reputed  father  was  a  gentleman.  Begone, 
I  say,  and  do  your  worst — murder  me  if  you  will — and 
may  the  heaviest  curse  of  Heaven  fall  upon  you  !" 

Warncliff  muttered  a  reply,  in  a  tone  so  low  I  could  not 
catch  what  he  said.  Soon  after  this  I  heard  Clara  utter  a 
piercing  cry  of — 

"  Father  !  dear,  dear  father  !  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Here,  my  daughter — here — bound  like  a  felon. 

"Unhand  me,  villain  !"  I  now  heard  her  say;  "and  let 
me  go  to  my  father.  Unhand  me!  Walter— Henry— 
where  are  you? — help !  help  !  help !" 

20 


230  CLARA    MOREL  AND. 


These  words  from  Clara — this  appeal  to  me  from  her  I 
so  dearly  loved— nearly  drove  me  frantic ;  and,  like  a 
madman,  I  tried  the  strength  of  my  cords.  But  all  in 
vain  I  struggled;  for  my  limbs  were  so  bound  by  this 
time,  that  I  could  not  move  them;  and  either  for  greater 
security,  or  to  prevent  my  seeing  any  thing  that  was 
taking  place,  my  captors,  as  they  rose  from  my  body, 
turned  me  over  upon  my  face ;  and,  passing  a  long  stick 
between  my  arms  and  back,  compelled  me  to  remain  in 
that  position. 

But  though  I  could  render  Clara  no  assistance,  her 
appeal  for  help  was  not  altogether  made  in  vain ;  for  the 
next  moment  I  heard  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle,  followed  by 
a  loud  yell  of  agony,  a  shriek  from  Clara,  a  general  howi 
of  rage  and  consternation,  the  quick  reports  of  fire-arms, 
and,  above  all,  the  voice  of  Warncliff,  shouting : 
"  Take  him,  men  !  take  him  !  dead  or  alive  !" 
"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  Morton,  do  tell  me  what  has 
happened  ?" 

"I  can  only  conjecture,"  was  the  reply,  "that,  by  some 
means,  Walter  having  escaped  seizure  in  the  first  place, 
has  answered  the  appeal  of  his  sister  by  shooting  one  of 
the  rufiians,  and  has  again  fled,  pursued  by  at  least  one 
half  of  the  cut-throat  band." 

•This,  as  I  afterward  learned,  was  a  true  surmise. 
Walter,  after  his  conversation  with  me,  had  lain  down  to 
rest,  pondering  upon  what  I  had  said.  At  first  he  had  not 
been  disposed  to  treat  the  matter  as  any  thing  serious: 
but  falling  asleep,  and  dreaming  a  fearful  dream,  he  awoke 
in  terror,  and  became  so  impressed  with  a  sense  of 
approaching  evil,  that  he  determined  to  steal  into  the 
wood  and  keep  on  the  watch  the  remainder  of  the  night. 
This,  from  his  position  near  some  bushes,  he  had  easily 
effected,  without  being  seen  or  missed ;  and  as  the  reader 
knows,   he    had    ere  long  good  reason  to   congratulate 


THE   CLOVEN   FOOT   VISIBLE.  231 


himself  on  his  pruiential  movement.  About  midnight— or 
perhaps  an  hour  or  two  later— the  treacherous  design  of 
Warncliff  was  executed;  but  it  was  not  known  to  him 
that  Walter  had  escaped,  until  apprised  of  it  by  a  ball, 
which,  just  grazing  his  cheek,  cut  the  jugular  vein  of  Tom, 
his  lieutenant.  Walter  had  been  watching  an  opportunity 
to  take  the  life  of  Warncliff;  and,  hidden  in  a  thicket, 
where  he  could  note  every  thing  going  on,  had  reserved  his 
fire  for  this  purpose. 

On  the  seizure  of  her  father— which,  by  a  preconcerted 
signal,  occurred  at  the  same  moment  as  my  own— Clara 
had  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  and  fainted ;  and  Tom,  by 
Warnclifirs  directions,  had  taken  charge  of  her.  On  her 
return  to  consciousness,  she  immediately  called  for  her 
father ;  and  would  have  rushed  to  him,  but  was  prevented 
by  Tom.  She  then  called  on  her  brother  and  me  for  help; 
and  Warncliff  coming  up  to  her  at  this  moment,  Walter 
fired,  intending  to  kill  both  him  and  his  ruffianly  lieutenant 
with'the  same  discharge.  But  fate  had  ordered  otherwise, 
and  only  Tom  fell  a  victim. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scene  of  confusion  which 
immediately  followed  Walter's  fatal  shot.  Those  of  the 
bandits— for  so  I  must  now  term  them— who  chanced  to 
have  their  rifles  in  their  hands,  instantly  discharged  them 
into  the  thicket  where  Walter  had  been  concealed;  and^ 
then  bounded  away  to  take  him,  dead  or  alive.  Afew 
remained  to  guard  us;  and  among  the  rest  WarncliiT, 
who  stormed  and  swore  in  the  most  vehement  manner.  I 
co'uld  occasionally  hear  what  he  said,  but  could  see  nothing 
that  was  taking  place. 

"Look  to  the  girl,  that  she  does  no  mischief!"  I  could 
hear  him  say  to  some  of  his  men.  Then  he  addressed  the 
Colonel:  "Hark  ye.  Colonel  Moreland !  if  your  son  is 
taken  alive,  the  nearest  tree  shall  bear  fruit  from  your 
marriage  bed." 


232  CLARA  MORELAND. 


"What  has  he  done,"  was  the  inquiry,  "that  you  can 
so  easily  sacrifice  the  friendship  of  the  past  to  such  fiend- 
like monstrosity?"- 

"  Done  what  I  will  never  forgive,  and  be to  him  !*' 

cried  the  other,  hoarse  with  rage.  "  He  has  killed  Tom 
Strathman,  by  a  ball  aimed  at  my  life." 

"  I  only  regret  that  he  missed  his  mark,"  was  the  bold 
reply. 

"  Have  a  care,  old  man  !  or  you  shall  swing  with  him." 

"I  expect  nothing  better;  for  I  suppose  you  planned 
our  death  before  you  seized  us ;  and  my  only  wonder  is, 
that  you  have  delayed  execution  so  long." 

"  No,  Colonel  Moreland,  in  justice  to  myself  I  will  say,  I 
did  not  intend  any  harm  to  you  personally,  nor  to  Walter, 

nor  to  Clara ;  but  as  for  that Virginian,  who  has  more 

than  once  crossed  my  path,  and  who  once  struclc  me — an 
insult  I  would  not  forgive  if  I  were  dying — for  him  the  rope 
and  the  tree  wait ;  and  they  shall  not  long  be  cheated  of 
their  prey,  nor  the  vultures  of  a  feast  on  his  hateful  carcass. 
I  once  attempted  his  life  with  a  ball ;  but  I  have  ever  since 
rejoiced  that  I  missed  my  mark.  I  have  daily  prayed  for 
this  hour  of  revenge,  and  now  my  prayer  is  granted." 

"Which  proves,  I  suppose,  that  the  devil  is  both 
powerful  and  liberal,"  returned  the  Colonel. 

"You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,"  rejoined  the  other, 
in  an  angry  tone;  "but  you  will  soon  have  cause  to 
change  your  humor;"  and  with  this  he  apparently  stalked 
away  to  his  fair  victim ;  for  immediately  after  I  heard  him 
and  Clara  speaking  together,  but  was  unable  to  distinguish 
any  thing  that  was  said,  though  the  latter  appeared  to  be 
sobbing. 

"Well,  Morton,  I  think  it  is  all  over  with  me,"  I  said, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"Would  to  Heaven  I  could  give  you  aid,  my  dear 
friend  ?"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  half-choked  with  emotion. 


THE  CLOVEN  FOOT  VISIBLE.  233 


"  Yes,  Harry,"  he  continued,  "  you  and  I  may  both  prepare 
ourselves  for  the  worst ;  for  as  well  might  the  lamb  hope 
mercy  from  the  wolf,  as  we  from  this  traitor  and  renegade. 
Alas  !  poor  Viola  !  and  shall  we  never  meet  again?" 

"It  is  not  your  wont  to  despair,  Morton." 

"  There  is  an  end  to  all  things,  Harry,  and  Eate  can 
only  bear  us  to  the  end,"  he  replied,  gloomily. 

"But  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  expect  the 
doom  he  pronounced  on  me,"  I  rejoined.  "You  are  not 
his  rival — you  never  struck  him — and  unless  it  is  his 
design  to  murder  the  whole  of  us,  I  think,  with  fair  speech, 
you  may  yet  regain  your  liberty." 

"I  shall  not  beg  my  life,"  said  Harley. 

"  No !  but  you  need  not  refuse  it  if  offered.  Be  chary 
of  your  speech,  and  say  nothing  in  my  favor ;  for  no  good 
can  accrue  from  it  to  me,  and  it  will  certainly  be  injurious 
to  yourself." 

"Hist!"  exclaimed  Harley:  "he  comes  this  way." 

I  now  heard  steps  approaching ;  and  soon  after  some 
one  withdrew  the  stick  from  between  my  arms  and  body, 
and  turned  me  over  upon  my  back.  I  looked  up,  and  by 
the  light  of  the  fire,  which  flashed  full  upon  his  face, 
beheld  the  eyes  of  Warncliff  riveted  upon  me,  and  gleam- 
ing with  an  expression  of  malignant  triumph. 

"  So !"  he  said,  drawing  in  his  breath,  and  almost 
hissing  the  words  between  his  shut  teeth — "  at  last  you  are 
in  my  power." 

"  So  it  seems,"  I  replied. 

"  And  how  do  you  think  I  will  use  it  ?" 

"In  the  worst  manner  possible." 

"Ay,  by  !  you  are  right,"  he  rejoined,  with  an 

oath ;  •"  the  worst  manner  possible  for  you.  Was  it  ever 
foretold  you,  by  some  gifted  seer,  that  your  end  would  be 
by  the  halter?" 

20* 


234  CLARA  MORELAND. 

" Do  your  worst !"  returned  I:  "I  shall  not  sue  to  you 
for  mercy." 

"No !  for  you  know  you  well  deserve  all  you  will  get  at 
my  hands/* 

"  So  you  will  probably  settle  it  with  your  own  con- 
science; but  a  day  of  fearful  reckoning  will  come,  not- 
withstanding." 

"  Umph !  you  are  disposed  to  moralize.  But  you  should 
have  thought  of  that  before  you  struck  one  a  blow,  who 
then  swore  to  reckon  fearfully  with  you  for  the  insult. 
That  insult,  sir,  bear  in  mind,  was  given  in  the  presence 
of  a  lady  whose  hand  was  pledged  to  me,  and  whose  affec- 
tions you  won  from  me  by  the  meanest  arts.  I  did  not 
cross  your  path — you  crossed  mine.  You  deliberately 
drew  the  consequences  upon  yourself,  and  have  no  right 
to  complain." 

"I  make  no  complaints,  sir! — do  your  worst,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  What  right  had  you,"  ho  pursued,  with  considerable 
vehemence,  "  to  thrust  yourself  upon  a  family  where  you 
were  not  wanted,  and  basely  endeavor  to  breed  disaffec- 
tion and  destroy  all  social  harmony  ?  It  was  for  a  selfish 
purpose — that  you,  out  of  the  wreck  you  would  thus  make, 
might  be  able  to  secure  a  prize.  You  may  thank  your 
meddling  nature  for  all  the  trouble  that  has  so  far  come 
upon  you,  and  also  for  the  -fearful  punishment  that  will 
certainly  follow ;  for  I  swear  to  you,  were  an  angel  from 
Heaven  to  plead  in  your  behalf,  I  would  not  mitigate  in 
the  slightest  degree  the  doom  I  have- fixed  for^you  !" 

"In  the  words  of  Colonel  Moreland,"  I  rejoined,  "*my 
only  wonder  is  that  you  have  delayed  execution  so  long.'  " 

"  I  have  chosen  my  own  time ;  and  it  is  enough  that  I 
have  succeeded  in  my  design  at  the  moment  most  befitting." 

"  But  why  trouble  me  with  the  matter  now  ?  If  you 
have  doomed  me  to  death,  and  your  conscience  is  easy, 


THE   CLOVKN   FOOT  VISIBLE.  235 

why  seek  to  justify  your  conduct  to  me  by  attempting  to 
fasten  the  blame  upon  my  shoulders  ?  If  I  have  but  a 
few  minutes,  or  a  few  hours,  to  live,  I  pray  you  leave  me 
to  myself — to  the  solemn  thoughts  and  reflections  which 
80  near  an  approach  to  death  awakens  !" 

"Death,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  grim  smile,  "is  but  a  fee- 
ble punishment,  if  unattended  with  terrors  or  regrets;  and 
I  wish  to  punish  to  the  full  extent  of  my  power.  To 
do  this,  it  is  necessary  to  wring  your  very  soul  while  it 
occupies  its  earthly  tenement,  that  it  may  pass  from  mortal 
scenes  with  an  agony  even  eternity  cannot  alleviate !" 

"  A  fiend  could  not  be  more  devilish,"  I  said. 

"  Then  think  me  a  fiend,"  he  replied,  with  a  grim 
smile ;  "  it  suits  my  purpose  well.  But  to  begin  my  tor- 
tures— not  of  the  body,  but  of  the  mind — for  they  are 
fools  who  torture  the  body,  and  inflict  temporary  pain, 
when  they  can  reach  the  soul — for  that  once  stirred  with 
anguish,  writhes  in  misery  long  after  the  victim  has  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  his  tormentors.  Ha!  do  I  make 
your  cheek  blanch  already  ?  then  I  shall  certainly  triumph 
in  my  purpose.  Listen !  you  love,  and  are  beloved ;  but 
she  you  love  is  in  my  power ;  and  hateful  as  I  am  to  you 
and  her,  I  swear  to  you  she  must  and  shall  be  mine ;  and 
while  these  arms  enfold  her  in  a  close  embrace,  I  will 
whisper  in  her  ear,  that  he  for  whom  she  would  have  given 
her  life,  is  a  prey  to  vultures,  dangling  between  Heaven 
and  earth.  Ha  !  you  shudder :  it  is  enough :  I  knoAv  you 
feel;  and  I  will  leave  the  rest  to  your  imagination,  and 
you  to  quiet  meditation." 

He  then  turned  to  Harley,  and  said : 

"  As  for  you,  sir !  your  end  may  be  as  awful  as  that  of 
your  friend;  but  on  your  fate  another  must  decide;"  and 
with  these  words  he  strode  away,  leaving  us  to  such  reflec- 
tions as  his  words  and  our  circumstances  naturally  excited. 


CHAPTER     XX. 

MY  SENTENCE  AND   ITS   EXECUTION. 

What  occurred  during  the  remainder  of  the  night,  I 
could  only  conjecture ;  for  from  my  position  I  could  see 
little  or  nothing  that  was  taking  place ;  and  the  conversa- 
tion between  the  diffe-rent  parties  was  parried  on  in  a  tone 
too  low  for  me  to  overhear  what  was  said.  The  ruffians  who 
had  started  in  pursuit  of  Walter  returned,  and  I  felt  the 
deepest  anxiety  to  learn  if  he  had  escaped  or  been  killed, 
but  was  forced  to  remain  ignorant  of  his  fate.  I  even 
ventured  to  question  one  of  the  fellows  who  was  passing 
near  me ;  but  growling  out  a  savage  oath,  he  bade  me 
hold  my  tongue,  and  gave  me  no  other  answer. 

For  an  hour  Harley  was  left  within  a  few  feet  of  me, 
and  then  he  was  removed.  During  the  time  he  remained, 
we  conversed  together  in  low  tones ;  and  I  gave  him  direc- 
tions concerning  some  worldly  affairs,  and  in  what  manner 
to  break  the  news  of  my  fate  to  my  friends  in  Virginia, 
in  case  he  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  escape  from  his 
captors. 

I  had  never,  at  any  period  of  my  life — not  even  when 
standing  at  the  stake — felt  a  more  oppressive  presentiment 
that  my  earthly  destiny  was  drawing  to  a  close,  than  as  I 
lay  there  upon  the  damp,  cold  earth,  bound  hand  and  foot, 
and  left  alone  to  my  thoughts.  On  the  removal  of  Harley, 
I  truly  felt  that  the  parting  was  final,* and  that  I  should 
never  more  look  upon  an  earthly  friend. 

It  were  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  my  feelings  in  that 
hour   of  lonely  misery;  for  words   may  express  thought 
and  sentiment,  but  they  cannot  convey  to  another  the 
(236) 


MY   SENTENCE   AND  ITS  EXECUTION.  237 

pangs  of  a  soul  stretched  upon  a  mental  rack.  Nor  woul(J 
I  have  •  them ;  for  Heaven  forbid  that  even  my  greatest 
enemy  should  ever  be  doomed  to  the  suffering  I  then  and 
there  experienced !  The  words  of  my  tormentor  seemed 
burning  into  my  inmost  soul ;  and  I  felt  he  had  truly  said 
that  the  pains  of  the  body  were  nothing  in  comparison 
with  the  tortures  of  the  mind.  I  tried  to  calm  myself, 
and  let  my  thoughts  take  a  heavenward  flight,  that  my 
spirit  might  depart  somewhat  purified  from  the  dross  of 
earth  ;  but  the  images  of  Warncliff  and  Clara — a  devil 
and  an  angel — continually  rose  up  before  me ;  and  I  fan- 
cied I  could  hear  the  one  hissing  into  the  ear  of  the  other 
the  awful  words : 

^' He  for  whom  you  would  have  given  your  life,  is  a 
firey  to  vultures,  dangling  hctiveen  Heaven  and  earth!'' 

"Poor  Clara!'*  I  murmured;  "what  a  terrible  doom  is 
thine !  Far  better,  a  ^thousand  times  better,  had  the 
savages  slain  thee,  or  forever  held  thee  captive !" 

Warncliff  and  his  men  remained  up  the  rest  of  the 
night ;  and  just  before  the  break  of  day,  I  heard  the 
trampling  of  horses,  and  the  preparations  making  for  the 
resuming  of  their  journey.  For  the  lastj  two  hours  no  one 
had  come  nigh  me,  and  I  could  form  no  idea  when  the 
terrible  sentence  of  my  bandit-rival  was  to  be  carried  int9 
effect. 

At  last,  just  as  the  dull,  leaden  hue  of  morn  began  to 
steal  over  the  landscape,  giving  to  every  object  a  pale, 
sickly  cast,  Warncliff  himself  made  his  appearance.  Ad- 
vancing to  my  side,  he  paused,  and  folding  his  arms  on 
his  breast,  stood  for  several  moments,  regarding  me  with 
the  same  dark,  malignant  expression  of  triumph  which  I 
have  before  described. 

"You  have  felt,''  he  at  length  said,  speaking  the  words 
slowly,  and  with  emphatic  distinctness.  "  Yes,  you  have 
felt — for  the  agonies  of  the  soul  are  visibly  impressed  on 


238  CLARA  MORELAND. 


your  features.  My  words  were  not  unheeded,  and  have 
not  been  forgotten.  In  the  last  few  hours  you  have  lived 
an  age." 

•"  May  God  forgive  you !"  said  I,  solemnly. 

"Pray  for  yourself!"  he  replied,  quickly  and  sharply; 
"  for  you  have  most  need,  and  will  soonest  stand  in  His 
presence.  Henry  Walton,"  he  continued,  "your  hour 
has  come,  and  your  minutes  are  already  numbered.  I  do 
not  wish  to  see  you  die,  and  have  come  to  take  my  leave. 
Farewell !  I  wish  you  a  safe  and  speedy  journey  to  your 
destination ;  which  is  more  than  you  do  me,  with  all  your 
pretended  piety.  I  go  to  join  Clara  ;  but  I  leave  you  in 
the  hands  of  some  trusty  friends^  who  will  faithfully  stand 
by  you  to  the  last.  Au  revoir  .'"  and  bowing,  with  mock 
deference  and  politeness,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode 
away. 

I  was  anxious  to  see  Harley  once  more,  and  I  called  to 
Warncliff  for  this  purpose  ;  but  he  heeded  me  not ;  and 
the  next  moment  was  hid  from  my  view.  Presently  I 
heard  the  order  given  to  mount ;  and  soon  after,  the  sound 
of  horses'  hoofs  departing  at  a  gallop,  and  gradually 
dying  away  in  the  distance  till  all  became  still. 

For  a  time,  notwithstanding  Warncliff  had  told  me  ho 
should  leave  me  in  the  hands  of  some  trusty  friends,  I  was 
led,  from  the  deep  stillness  which  prevailed,  to  believe 
myself  entirely  alone  ;  and  I  was  beginning  to  speculate 
upon  the  probability  of  his  having  changed  his  design,  and 
left  me  thus  to  starve,  or  be  devoured  by  wild  beasts — a 
doom  no  less  horrible  than  the  other — when  the  sound  of 
voices  reached  my  ear.  At  first  I  could  hear  nothing  but 
a  sort  of  low  grumble ;  but  presently  I  could  distinguish 
what  was  said,  denoting  that  the  parties  were  either  eleva- 
ting their  tones  or  approaching  from  a  distance. 

"Thar's  no  use  a  talking.  Jack,"  were  the  first  words  I 


MY  SENTENCE,   AND    ETS  EXECUTION.  239 

could  clearly  make  out :  "I  tell  you  I'll  be if  I  like 

such  business,  no  how  you  can  fix  it." 

"  Pshaw !  baby  talk,"  replied  the  other,  in  a  coarse, 
gruif  tone.  "You  must  be  gitting  chicken-hearted ;  for 
you've  pinked  your  man  afore  to-day,  and  thought  no 
more  on't  than  I  did." 

"  Yes,  Jack,  I'll  allow  that,"  was  the  rejoinder  ;  *'  but 
that  was  in  fair  fight,  you  know." 

"Gammon!"  growled  the  other:  "Stufi"!  don't  talk 
to  me  as  knows  ye  !  Didn't  I  see  you  go  up  behind 
Dandy  Jake — as  we  used  to  call  him — dirk  him  in  the 
back-bone,  and  pitch  him  into  the  drink — hey?  Now 
d'ye  call  that  a  fair  fight — hey  ?" 

"  But  I  hated  him,"  was  the  reply  ;  "for  he  was  al'ays 
crossing  me  in  some  way  or  other ;  and  when  I  seen  him 
attempt  to  come  over  the  affections  of  Lady  Bess,  I  swore 
I'd  be  the  death  o'  him  ;  and  I  kept  my  oath." 

"  Well,  our  Cap'en  hates  this  here  feller  for  the  same 
reason ;  he's  tried  to  come  it  over  his  gal ;  so  come  along, 
Bill,  and  let's  make  an  end  of  him." 

"Well,  if  Warncliff  hates  him,  why  don't  he  do  the 
dirty  business  himself,  and  not  be  setting  others  about  it 
that's  got  nothing  agin  the  chap  ?" 

"  Oh,  botheration !  Come  along.  Bill,  or  we'll  get  con- 
foundedly behindhand.  See  !  our  friends  is  almost  out  o' 
sight;  and  we'll  have  to  ride  right  sharp  to  catch  'em 
as  it  is;  and  the  longer  we  delay  the  wuss  it'll  be." 

"  AVell,  if  I  must,  I  must — so  here  goes ;  but  if  ever 
I'm  cotched  on  such  business  agin,  unless  it's  on  my  own 
account,  I'll  give  'em  leave  to  string  up  Bill  Waterman, 
Cap'en's  orders  or  no  Capen's  orders,  by ?" 

"We'll  have  it  over  in  a  jifiy,"  growled  the  other;  and 
as  this  was  said,  the  speaker  and  his  companion  stood 
along  side  of  me. 

I  had  heard  enough  to  know  that  one  at  least  disliked 


240  CLARA  MORELAND. 

the  horrible  business  he  had  been  set  about  by  his  leader  ; 
and  a  faint  hope  sprung  up  in  my  breast,  that  perhaps  I 
might  prevail  upon  my  appointed  executioners  to  let  me 
escape.     With  this  idea  in  view,  I  hastened  to  say  : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  know  your  business ;  but  I  believe  also 
that  you  are  men  not  devoid  of  pity ;  and  I  beseech  you 
not  to  injure  one  who,  whatever  his  faults,  has  never  done 
you,  at  least,  any  wrong !" 

"Come!  come!  no  whining!"  growled  the  one  called 
Jack ;    "  you've  got   to  be   strung  up ;    I   promised   the 

Cap'en  to  see  it  done ;  and me,  I'll  keep  my  word, 

though  you  use  a  coward's  tongue  to  beg  like  an  angel." 

"  Remember,"  said  I,  solemnly,  "  the  mercy  you  deny 
me,  you  may  some  time  seek  in  vain  yourself!" 

"Well,  I'll  take  my  chance,  any  ways;  and  as  for 
mercy,  when  I  know  I've  got  to  die,  nobody  won't  hear 
me  whine  like  a  whipped  puppy,  I  can  tell  ye." 

I  now  appealed  directly  to  the  companion  of  this  ruffian 
— for  I  saw  that  from  him  I  had  nothing  to  hope. 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you  what  'tis,  young  chap,"  answered 
the  one  called  Bill ;  "  you  never  did  nothing  agin  me,  I 

know;  and  if  Jack  here  was  agreed,  I'd  soon  let 

ye  off." 

"Now  see  here,  Bill,"  interposed  Jack,  with  a  savage 
oath;  "  I've  heard  enough  of  this  chicken-hearted  blarney; 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  'tis,  once  for  all ;  if  you  don't  shtit 
your  mouth,  and  help  string  this  feller  up  right  sudden, 
I'll  report  you  to  head-quarters  *  and  you  know  powerful 
well  what'll  come  on't :  you'll  ayther  die  by  a  knife,  or  a 
rope,  right  sudden." 

"  It's  no  use  a  talking,"  returned  Bill,  looking  at  me  ; 
"  you  see  how  I  am  fixed ;  and  though  I'm  sorry  for  ye, 
I've  got  to  do  my  duty." 

"  But  I  will  make  it  for  your  interest  to  let  me  go,"  I 
rejoined,  addressing  both.     "  Only  let  me  escape,  and  by 


MY   SENTENCE,   AND  ITS  EXECUTION.  241 

all  my  hopes  here  and  hereafter,  I  swear  to  you,  I  will 
pay  any  ransom  you  may  name,  at  any  place  that  may  be 
agreed  upon  !" 

"  'Twon't  do,"  said  Jack ;  "  I  wouldn't  trust  ye :  and 
hark  ye !  if  you  open  your  mouth  agin,  I'll  gag  you, 
by !" 

I  saw  my  hope  vanish — I  felt  that  nothing  more  I  could 
Bay  would  avail  me  in  the  least — and  with  a  mental  prayer, 
that  God  would  pardon  my  many  sins,  I  strove  to  resign 
myself  to  my  fate. 

Jack  now  unbound  my  legs,  and,  with  an  oath,  bade  me 
stand  upon  my  feet.  I  obeyed,  without  a  murmur ;  and 
he  then  said : 

"  Now,  mister,  you  can  have  your  choice,  to  have  your 
eyes  bandaged  or  not." 

"  Then  I  will  not  have  them  bandaged,"  I  replied,  in  a 
firm,  even  tone  of  voice,  that  almost  surprised  myself. 

"Very  good — that'll  save  me  some  trouble.  Let  mo 
Bee !  thar  ought  to  be  a  tree  hereabouts  that'll  do.  Yes, 
yonder's  one  that's  jest  the  thing.  Now,  Bill,  go  and 
bring  up  one  of  the  horses,  and  I'll  make  the  slip-a- 
noose." 

And  while  the  other  went  for  one  of  the  animals  that 
stood  hitched  to  a  sapling  not  far  off,  he  coolly  proceeded 
to  tie  a  hangman's  knot  in  the  rope  he  had  taken  from 
my  limbs,  and  adjust  it  to  my  neck.  This  completed,  and 
the  horse  being  brought,  I  was  unceremoniously  lifted  upon 
his  back,  and  the  beast  led  under  a  tree  whose  lower 
branches  were  about  fifteen  feet  above  the  ground. 

Jack  then  ordered  Bill  to  hold  the  horse  by  the  bit, 
while  he  climbed  the  tree  and^  made  the  rope  fast  to  one  of 
the  limbs.  This  occupied  the  ruffian  but  a  few  minutes ; 
and  on  his  descent  to  the  ground,  he  said : 

"  Now,  comrade,  as  you  don't  like  this  business,  I'll  let 
16  21 


242  CLARA   MORELAND. 

you  off  o'  any  further  share  in't.  Jest  you  mount  your 
horse   yonder,   and   be   ready  to   travel — as   I'll   do   the 

moment  it's  done ;  for me  if  I  want  to  look  upon 

this  feller's  face  in  the  death-struggles.  We  needn't  see 
him  die,  and  then  his  ghost  won't  haunt  us ;  and  it'll  be  all 
the  same  if  we  don't ;  for  die  he  will,  in  a  few  minutes, 
that's  sartin — for  his  arms  is  tied,  and  thar's  no  possible 
chance  for  him  to  git  away." 

Bill  gave  me  a  look,  in  which  pity  and  a  kind  of  super- 
stitious terror  were  blended,  and  then  hastened  to  do  as 
Jack  directed ;  while  the  latter  took  the  horse  by  the  bit, 
ready  to  start  him  from  under  me  and  mount  in  my 
place. 

My  feelings  in  that  moment  were  awful,  awful,  beyond 
description.  To  die  thus,  the  most  ignominious  of  all 
deaths,  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  afar  from  the  habitations 
of  my  kind,  with  no  friend  by  to  sympathize  with  me,  or 
hear  my  last  «rords,  or  to  gather  my  mortal  remains  and 
consign  them  to  mother  earth  !  I  thought  of  the  words  of 
Warncliff,  ringing  in  the  ear  of  her  I  loved,  and  of  the 
vultures  feeding  upon  my  flesh,  and  tearing  it  from  my 
bones;  and  the  picture  became  so  agonizingly  horrible, 
that  I  felt  the  blood  run  cold  to  my  heart,  while  large 
drops  of  perspiration  started  from  every  pore,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  I  could  restrain  mySelf  from  shrieking  aloud. 
I  tried  to  think  it  some  frightful  dream,  from  which  I 
should  yet  aAvake ;  but  I  felt,  too  awfully  felt,  that  the 
waking  would  be  in  eternity.  I  tried  to  pray ;  but  even 
*'  God  have  mercy  on  my  soul !"  seemed  glued  to  my  lips ; 
while  my  brain  was  like  a  seething  cauldron,  where  burn- 
ing thoughts  leaped  out  in  a  wild  chaos. 

I  suppose  the  contortions  of  my  features,  in  this  moment 
of  mental  agony,  must  have  been  frightful— for  I  heard  the 
ruffian  say,  with  an  oath : 


MY  SENTEJTCE,   and  ITS   EXECUTION.  243 

"  By !  if  I'd  a  knowed  that  this  was  the  way  ho 

was  going  to  look,  I'd  hev  kivered  his  face,  sartin.  Well, 
it's  the  first  hanging  business  ever  I  did,  and  it'll  be  the 
last.  Good-bye,  mister — hope  you'll  forgive  me;"  and 
with  these  words  1  felt  the  rope  tighten  round  my  neck, 
and  the  beast  going  from  under  me. 

A  moment  more,  and  I  was  swinging  by  the  neck.  All 
merciful  Heaven  !  what  a  sensation !  A  thousand  sparks 
of  fire  seemed  starting  from  my  eyes,  to  be  quenched  in 
blood,  and  the  eyes  themselves  seemed  rolling  from  their 
sockets.  My  heart  felt  like  bursting ;  while  apparently  a 
thousand  pounds  of  blood  were  forced  upward  to  the  brain, 
and  the  head  seemed  on  the  point  of  being  rent  in  twain. 
Earth  disappeared  from  my  vision — darkness  came — and 
then  a  red  light,  in  which  danced  fiery  snakes  and 
scorpions.  Strange  noises  rung  in  my  ear — thundering, 
roaring,  and  shrieking  sounds,  awfully  commingled. 

Suddenly  the ,  frightful  sights  vanished — the  wild  noises 
ceased — and  methought  I  beheld  a  celestial  train  of  bright, 
glorious  spirits  advancing  toward  me  with  outstretched 
arms.  At  this  my  soul  felt  unutterable  joy,  and  seemed 
to  be  lifting  itself  from  its  earthly  tenement,  and  going  up 
to  meet  them.     And  this  is  death,  I  thought. 

At  this  moment  something  seemed  to  touch  me ;  and  I 
fell,  as  in  a  dream,  down,  down — far  down — and  struck 
with  a  shock.  And  as  I  struck,  sudden  night  closed 
around  me,  and  oblivion  sealed  my  senses. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

RESUSCITATION  AND  WHAT   FOLLOWED. 

When  I  again  opened  my  ejes  to  light  and  life,  I  saw 
the  face  of  Walter  Moreland  bending  over  me,  with  a  look 
of  painful  anxiety.  My  first  impression  was  that  we  had 
met  in  another  world ;  and  I  said  : 

*,'  So  then,  my  friend,  you  were  murdered  as  well  as  I — 
but  we  are  both  beyond  their  reach  now." 

"  Oh,  blessed  be  God,  that  hath  heard  my  prayer  and 
restored  you  to  life!"  he  cried,  tears  of  joy  filling  his  eyes. 
"  You  know  me,  Henry,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Certainly — you  are  Walter  Moreland,  the  brother  of 
Clara.  Alas  !  poor  Clara !  would  to  Heaven  I  could 
deliver  her  from  the  fiend  who  holds  her  in  his  power !" 

"And  so  you  shall,  Henry — so  you  shall!"  cried 
Walter,  with  fiery  energy.  "  With  God's  aid,  we  "will 
deliver  her,  and  piinish  that  treacherous  villain  as  he 
deserves." 

"But  how,  Walter?  how?"  inquired  I,  eagerly,  still 
under  the  impression  that  we  were  beyond  the  shores  of 
time.     "  They  you  speak  of  yet  live  on  the  earth." 

"  And  so  do  we,  my  dear  Henry,  as  you  will  perceive 
when  your  scattered  faculties  become  collected  from  the 
terrible  shock  they  have  received." 

"  And  am  I  still  mortal,  and  on  the  earth  ?"  cried  I, 
looking  around  me  in  a  half-bewildered  state.  "Where 
am  I  then  ?  and  what  stream  is  this  ?" — for  I  was  re- 
clining on  the  bank  of  a  little  rivulet,  whose  limpid 
waters,  as  they  rolled  past  me,  murmured  sweetly  in  my 
ear. 

(244) 


RESUSCITATION  AND  TTHAT  FOLLOWED.  245 

"  This  is  the  stream  by  which  we  encamped  last  night ; 
and  yonder  is  the  tree  from  which  I  cut  you  down,'* 
replied  Walter. 

I  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  by  a  motion  of  his 
hand ;  and  there,  sure  enough,  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
me,  I  beheld  the  tree  to  which  I  had  been  suspended,  and 
a  portion  of  the  rope  still  dangling  from  the  limb,  and 
waving  to  and  fro  in  the  light  morning  breeze.  I  now 
began  to  comprehend  my  true  situation  ;  but  the  rope  and 
the  tree  brought  back  the  awful  sensations  I  had  expe- 
rienced in  undergoing  the  agonies  of  death  by  strangula- 
tion, and  I  withdrew  my  gaze  with  a  sickening  shudder. 

"  But  how  is  it  that  I  am  here,  Walter,  with  you  beside 
me,  whom  I  supposed  dead,  or  fiir  away  ?"  I  inquired, 
eagerly.  "  How  was  I  snatched  from  death  at  tho 
eleventh  hour  ?" 

"  At  the  eleventh  hour  truly,"  replied  my  companion ; 
**and  for  a  time  I  feared  too  late.  Thus  it  was;"  and 
Walter  began  by  stating  in  what  manner,  and  for  what 
reason,  he  had,  about  the  middle  of  the  night,  withdrawn 
himself  into  the  wood ;  which,  being  in  substance  what  I 
have  previously  told  the  reader,  I  need  not  here  repeat. 
I  will  therefore  allow  his  narration  to  commence  at  a 
point  of  interest. 

"  I  had  taken  my  rifle  with  me,"  he  proceeded,  "  and 
I  now  determined  to  punish  Warncliff  for  his  treachery. 
I  therefore  kept  my  eye  upon  him,  and  brought  my 
weapon  to  bear — though  I  withheld  my  fire,  for  fear  of 
missing  my  mark.  While  he  stood  tantalizing  my  father,  1 
was  sorely  tempted  to  pull  the  trigger  more  than  once ; 
but  I  restrained  myself  till  he  approached  Clara;  when 
finding  him  and  the  ruffian  with  whom  she  was  struggling 
in  fair  bullet  range,  I  sighted,  as  well  as  I  could  by  the 
firelight,  and  discharged  my  piece.     At  the  very  instant  1 

21* 


246  CLARA   MORELAND. 

did  so,  Warn  cliff  moved  his  head  one  side,  and  thus  his 
life  was  saved;  but  Tom,  his  lieutenant,  fell,  mortally 
wounded." 

"  But  were  you  not  afraid  of  shooting  Clara?"  inquired 
I ;  "  for  she  must  have  been  very  near,  if  not  in  range 
also." 

"Yes,"  replied  Walter,  "  I  was  fearful  of  such  a  catas- 
trophe ;  but  better  death  from  the  hands  of  a  brother,  I 
reasoned,  than  life  with  such  a  villain ;  and  I  left  the 
issue  to  Providence. 

"  I  knew,"  continued  Walter,  "  that  the  moment  I 
should  fire,  I  should  be  pursued  ;  and  I  had  bethought  me 
of  a  stratagem  for  eluding  the  outlaws — which,  it  is  need- 
less to  add,  proved  successful.  Some  five  paces  behind 
me  was  a  large  tree,  surrounded  by  bushes ;  and  to  spring 
behind  this,  and  throw  myself  flat  upon  the  ground, 
was  the  work  of  an  instant.  I  had  just  done  so,  when 
they  discharged  their  rifles,  and  burst  into  the  thicket, 
hoping  to  find  me  there  wounded  ;  but  not  finding  me, 
they  naturally  concluded  I  had  fled  deeper  into  the  wood ; 
and  instantly  they  dashed  away  in  every  direction,  yelling 
like  so  many  Indians.  I  lay  quietly  till  I  heard  them  at  a 
considerable  distance  ;  and  then  putting  the  strap  of  my 
rifle  over  my  shoulders,  I  climbed  the  tree,  and  found 
myself  in  safety. 

"iFrom  my  position,  I  could  now  see  nearly  every  thing 
that  was  taking  place  in  the  camp  ;  and  I  was  much 
tempted  to  try  another  shot  at  WarncliiF ;  but  I  recollected 
that  this  would  betray  my  hiding-place,  and  bring  upon 
me  certain  death ;  while,  by  escaping,  I  might  yet  be  of 
service  to  my  friends.  The  last,  rather  than  personal  fear, 
determined  me  to  display  no  further  rashness  ;  and  now  I 
feel  I  cannot  too  much  rejoice  at  my  prudence. 

"  To  be  brief,  I  remained  on  the  tree  all  night,  watch- 
ing the  outlaws,  and  overhearing  much  that  was  said. 


RESUSCITATION   AND   WHAT  FOLLOWED.  247 

On  the  return  of  my  pursuers  from  a  fruitless  searcli,  I 
could  see  that  "VVarncliff  was  half  beside  himself  with  rage 
— though  he  took  care  not  to  vent  it  too  loud,  nor  let  my 
friends  know  of  my  escape.  He  now  ordered  his  men  to 
bury  Tom,  who  had  died  meantime;  and  when  this  was 
done,  the  whole  party  proceeded  to  hold  a  consultation ; 
after  which  they  divided  into  groups,  and  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  the  night  in  talking  over  the  late  exciting 
events,  and  in  relating  wild  tales  and  daring  exploits  of 
former  times. 

*•  When,  after  the  departure  of  the  bandits  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  found  that  only  two  were  left  behind  to  execute 
you,  I  felt  certain  that  I  could  save  you ;  and  descending 
from  the  tree,  I  concealed  myself  in  the  thicket,  to  watch 
their  motions,  and  take  advantage  of  the  most  favorable 
moment  to  come  to  your  rescue.  My  first  idea  was  to 
shoot  one  and  rush  upon  the  other ;  but  if  this  could  be 
avoided,  and  they  be  suflfered  to  depart  under  the  belief 
that  you  were  dead,  or  soon  would  be,  I  preferred  it 
should  be  so,  for  many  reasons  ;  and  I  thought  it  very 
probable  that  the  moment  they  should  see  you  fairly  sus- 
pended by  the  neck,  they  would  mount  their  horses  and 
dash  away ;  and  I  believed  there  would  then  be  time 
enough  for  mo  to  cut  you  down  ere  life  should  be 
extinct. 

"  The  result  has  been  as  I  anticipated — save  that,  in  my 
haste  to  climb  the  tree,  so  as  to  reach  the  rope  with  my 
knife,  I  slipped  and  fell,  and  for  a  moment  lay  half 
Btunned  ;  and  the  delay  this  occasioned  was  nigh  proving 
fatal  to  you.  In  fact,  when  I  had  borne  you  to  this 
stream,  and  repeatedly  dashed  water  in  your  face,  without 
perceiving  any  signs  of  life,  I  began  to  tremble  with  hor- 
ror, lest  all  were  indeed  over.  But  at  length,  to  my  great 
joy,  I  fancied  there  was  a  slight  tremor  about  the  heart ; 
and  I  continued  to  labor  for  your  restoration  with  redou- 


248  CLARA  MORELAND. 


bled  zeal.  With  your  first  gasp  for  breath,  I  was  so  over- 
joyed, that  I  was  forced  to  cry  aloud  to  give  vent  to  mj 
feelings ;  but  even  after  this,  there  seemed  to  be  a  despe- 
rate struggle  between  life  and  death ;  and  for  a  time  1 
hardly  knew  which  would  conquer.  But  I  need  not  dwell 
on  the  painful  scene ;  you  are  restored  to  life  and  to  your 
senses,  and  God  be  praised  for  it !" 

"Amen!  from  my  soul!"  returned  I.  "But  how^ much 
time  has  elapsed  since  you  cut  me  down  ?" 

"  I  should  judge  about  an  hour." 

"  To  God,  and  to  you,  Walter  Moreland,  I  owe  my  deli- 
verance from  death,"  said  I,  taking  his  hand  ;  "  and  may 
my  senses  fail  me  when  I  forget  the  debt  due  to  either  !" 

"  You  owe  nothing  to  me,  for  performing  a  common  act 
of  humanity,"  replied  Walter,  much  affected;  "but  I  trust 
I  may  count  on  you  to  aid  me  in  my  endeavors  to  rescue 
my  father  and  sister  from  the  hands  of  their  rufiBanly 
captors." 

"  Were  they  my  bitterest  enemies,  but  friends  of  yours, 
my  life  and  fortune  should  be  at  your  disposal,  to  aid  them 
to  escape ;  but  since  they  are  friends  of  mine  as  well  as 
yours,  I  cannot  even  make  a  merit  of  such  an  attempt. 
But  what  is  to  be  done  first  ?  what  do  you  propose  ?" 

"Why,  so  soon  as  you  are  able  to  bear  the  fatigues  of 
the  journey,  I  know  nothing  better  than  to  set  out  on  their 
trail,  like  Indians,  and  so  follow  on  till  we  trace  them  to 
their  destination :  what  is  then  to  be  done  must  be  deter- 
mined by  circumstances." 

"I  am  ready  now,"  said  I,  as  the  image  of  the  lovely 
Clara  rose  in  my  mind ;  and  I  attempted  to  spring  to  my 
feet — but  fell  back  upon  the  earth,  weak  and  exhausted. 

"  Ah !  my  dear  friend,"  exclaimed  Walter,  "  I  feared  you 
were  reckoning  without  your  strength.  But  do  not  exert 
yourself  now :  a  few  hours  I  trust  will  restore  you ;  remem- 
ber :  you  have  been  on  the  very  brink  of  death,  and  you 


RESUSCITATION,   AND   WHAT  FOLLOWED.         249 

naturally  need  rest  and  food.  Good  heavens !"  he  sud- 
denly cried,  with  a  look  of  alarm — "  your  features  express 
pain  !     Are  you  suffering  ?  are  you  ill  ?" 

"  I  fear  I  am,"  I  replied,  gloomily  ;  "  the  blood  seems 
to  rush  into  my  eyes ;  there  are  sharp,  shooting  pains  in 
my  head ;  and  my  heart  seems  turned  to  lead." 

"  Keep  quiet !  keep  quiet !"  rejoined  Walter,  anxiously : 
"you  over-exerted  yourself  just  now.  Here,  take  a 
drink;"  and  with  a  small  tin  cup  which  he  carried  with 
him,  he  dipped  up  some  water  from  the  ^ reek,  and  pre- 
eented  it  to  my  lips. 

I  was  thirsty,  and  I  drank ;  but  the  first  draught,  which 
I  took  eagerly,  I  thought  would  strangle  me;  for  my 
throat  was  very  much  swollen ;  and  now,  for  the  first  time, 
I  felt  a  strange  sensation  outside,  where  the  rope  had 
encircled  it.  I  succeeded,  however,  after  several  trials,  in 
swallowing  about  a  gill,  which  refreshed  me  to  a  degree 
far  beyond  my  expectations. 

"  Ah !  thank  God !  you  are  better — I  can  see  it,"  cried 
Walter,  joyfully,  who  had  been  watching  my  features  with 
the  deepest  anxiety. 

"  I  am,  my  dear  friend — I  am,"  returned  I,  seizing  his 
hand. 

"  There !  there !  no  exertion  now !"  he  continued. 
"Remain  perfectly  quiet  till  your  strength  is  restored; 
and  do  not  attempt  to  get  up  till  I  return." 

"And  whither  are  you  going?" 

"  In  quest  of  what  we  both  need,  food.  Thank  Heavet  . 
I  have  a  good  rifle,  and  plenty  of  ammunition— so  we  need 
not  starve." 

"  Do  not  be  long  away,  Walter !" 

"A  few  minutes — only  a  few  minutes,  Henry,"  he 
replied,  and  disappeared  in  the  wood. 

It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning — all  nature  was 
decked  in  her  loveliest  green — and  as  I  lay  upon  the  velvet 


250  CLARA  MORELAND. 

bank  of  the  little  stream,  where  the  cloudless  sun,  just 
risen  above  the  mountain  tops,  poured  down  upon  me  a 
warm,  golden  flood  of  light — and  listened  to  the  songs  of  a 
thousand  birds,  which  cleaved  the  blue  ether  above  mj 
bead,  or  fluttered  among  the  branches  of  the  neighboring 
wood — I  suddenly  felt  my  soul  bound  with  a  joy  as 
inexplicable  as  inexpressible.  I  had  had  presentiments  of 
evil,  followed  by  troubles  dire :  was  this  an  omen  of  good, 
to  be  succeeded  by  ultimate  happiness  ?  I  hoped  so — I  may 
say  believed  so — at  least  I  fervently  prayed  it  might  be  so. 

Wonderful  creature  is  man !  wonderfully  organized ! 
wonderfully  endowed !  Whence  come  these  moments  of 
depression  and  exultation  ?  Are  we  sometimes  given  the 
prophet's  inspiration,  without  the  prophet's  power  of 
prophesying  ?  Are  our  spirits  permitted  to  look  into  the 
future,  and  convey  the  impression  of  good  or  evil  to  our 
senses  ?  Who  shall  answer  ?  All  is  mystery.  We  have 
been,  we  are,  and  shall  be ;  but  beyond  this,  how  much  do 
we  really  know  of  ourselves  ? 

I  soon  heard  the  report  of  Walter's  rifle ;  and  a  few 
minutes  after  he  appeared,  holding  up  a  rabbit  which  he 
had  shot.  This  he  dressed,  and  broiled  on  the  embers  of 
the  last  night's  fire.  I  ate  a  portion  of  it  with  some 
difficulty,  owing  to  my  throat  being  so  swollen ;  but  what  I 
did  eat  seemed  to  strengthen  me,  and  I  felt  much  better 
afterward. 

In  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours,  I  thought  myself 
able  to  begin  our  journey ;  and  we  set  out  accordingly ; 
but  I  was  often  obliged  to  stop  and  rest ;  so  that  we  did 
not  make  much  progress  that  day.  Our  course  lay  for  the 
most  part  over  a  rolling  prairie ;  and  we  had  no  difficulty 
in  following  the  wide,  heavy  trail  of  so  many  horses. 
Game  was  abundant;  and  toward  night  Walter  shot  a 
deer,  from  which  we  made  our  evening  and  morning  meals. 
We  kindled  a  fire,  which  was  necessary  to  keep  ofi"  the 


RESUSCITATION,   AND   WHAT   FOLLOWED.         251 

wild  beasts ;  and  besides,  the  nights  were  so  cool,  that  this 
means  of  protection  detracted  nothing  from  our  personal 
comfort. 

Notwithstanding  Walter  had  been  up  much  of  the 
previous  night,  he  insisted  on  standing  guard,  and  on  my 
getting  as  much  rest  as  I  could ;  but  waking  toward 
morning,  and  feeling  almost  myself  again,  I  insisted  on 
relieving  him ;  and  throwing  himself  down  by  the  fire,  he 
was  soon  fast  asleep,  much  to  my  satisfaction. 

By  sunrise  on  the  following  morning  we  had  resumed 
our  toilsome  journey ;  and  at  sunset  we  selected  our  camp 
some  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  from  the  previous  one — 
having,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  swum  two  streams  of 
considerable  note. 

On  the  third  morning,  feeling  myself  fully  recovered, 
we  began  our  march  with  renewed  zeal,  and  so  continued 
it  through  the  day.  About  an  hour  after  setting  out,  to 
our  great  delight,  we  came  upon  the  first  camp  of  our  foes ; 
and  so  eagerly  did  we  struggle  forward  after  this,  that  our. 
exeitions  were  crowned  with  the  triumph  of  arriving  at 
their  second  camp  just  as  the  sun  was  going  down.  This 
camp  was  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Erazos,  some  three  or 
four  hundred  miles  above  its  mouth ;  and  on  reaching  it, 
we  knew  that  our  enemies  were  only  a  day's  march  in 
advance  of  us.  This  distance  we  now  determined  to  main- 
tain, by  encamping  each  night  where  they  had  encamped 
the  night  previous. 

So  far  the  trail  of  the  bandits  had  led  due  south-west, 
over  an  uninhabited  tract  of  country;  and  we  began  to 
have  apprehensions  from  this,  that  Warncliff  was  bending 
his  steps  for  the  frontier  of  Mexico — perhaps  to  join  the 
enemies  of  Texas,  and  so  escape  the  punishment  that  might 
overtake  him,  sooner  or  later,  if  he  remained  within  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  United  States.  This  was  no  agreeable . 
Burmise,  and  depressed  our  spirits  not  a  little;  but  we 


252  CLARA   MORULAND. 


determined  to  follow  on,  let  him  lead  where  he  would,  and 
trust  the  rest  to  Providence. 

The  next  day  we  crossed  the  Brazos ;  and  finding  the 
wide  trail  of  the  bandits  on  the  other  side,  pursued  it 
eagerly;  and  before  sunset  had  the  satisfaction  of  again 
coming  upon  their  last  night's  camp. 

Perhaps  it  may  have  struck  the  reader  as  something  a 
little  marvellous,  that  we,  on  foot,  should  be  able  to 
advance  as  far  in  a  day  as  our  mounted  foes ;  but  I  trust 
I  need  only  state  the  fact,  that  they  did  not  press  forward 
at  a  very  rapid  rate  for  horsemen,  and  that  we  began  each 
day's  journey  at  the  first  streak  of  daylight,  and  toiled  on 
as  if  our  lives  were  at  stake. 

The  third  day  from  crossing  the  Brazos,  we  struck  a 
range  of  mountains  known  as  the  Colorado  Hills ;  and  the 
trail  here  leading  into  a  very  wild,  gloomy  ravine,  between 
high  rocks,  (which  we  judged  to  be  the  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent,  or  the  channel  of  some  former  stream,  which  had 
either  found  another  outlet,  or  whose  sources  had  become 
dry,)  we  entered  it  with  great  caution,  thinking  it  not 
improbable  we  were  now  close  upon  one  of  the  strongholds 
of  the  freebooters. 

About  half  a  mile  from  where  we  entered  the  ravine,  wo 
came  to  a  spot  where  the  rocks  receded  on  the  right  and 
left,  with  a  precipice  in  front,  over  which  the  rushing  stream 
had  once  probably  formed  a  beautiful  cascade.  Here  we 
found  evidences  of  the  party,  of  whom  we  were  in  quest, 
Laving  recently  encamped;  and  what  was  of  still  more 
consequence,  we  every  where  saw  indications  of  the  spot 
having  been  made  a  place  of  resort — peradventure  a  general 
rendezvous  for  a  large  band  of  freebooters,  of  whom  Warn- 
clifTs  men  might  be  only  a  small  detachment. 

The  rocks,  I  have  said,  here  receded  on  either  side ; 
but  perhaps  I  may  convey  to  the  reader  a  better  idea  of 
the  general  appearance  of  this  singular  retreat,  by  saying 


RESUSCITATION,   AND  WHAT  FOLLOWED.         253 

that  it  had  a  circular  form,  resembling  a  dipper  in  shape, 
of  which  the  outlet  might  be  termed  the  handle.  On  the 
summit  of  the  rocks,  which  here  rose  some  fifty  feet  nearly 
perpendicular  above  our  heads,  was  a  thick  growth  of 
bushes,  overtopped  by  trees  of  pine,  oak,  and  hemlock,- 
whose  branches,  extending  far  over  the  verge  of  the  cliffs, 
almost  met,  and  rendered  the  place  where  we  stood  of  a 
twilight  gloominess.  From  the  outlet  of  this  basin,  on 
either  side,  and  running  back  to  what  I  may  call  the 
cascade  precipice,  was  a  kind  of  log  and  brush  fence, 
forming  two  distinct  enclosures,  within  which  the  horses 
were  kept  secure,  both  from  straying  and  from  wild  beasts. 

No  horses  were  here  now,  nor  could  we  see  a  living 
soul.  This  emboldened  us  to  make  further  explorations ; 
but  we  proceeded  with  the  greatest  caution;  and  afraid 
that  even  a  whisper  might  betray  us,  we  communicated 
with  each  other  only  by  signs. 

At  length  we  discovered  some  rude  steps,  partly  natural 
and  partly  artificial,  which  ledtup  the  side  of  a  steep  rock; 
and  these,  after  some  serious  deliberation,  we  ventured  to 
ascend.  It  required  no  little  care  to  maintain  a  foothold 
— nor  could  we  do  so  without  using  our  hands.  Some 
twenty-five  or  thirty  feet  above  the  ground,  we  reached  a 
kind  of  platform,  which  extended  around  the  angle  of  a 
huge  rock,  which  shelved  out  over  our  heads,  and  we  could 
discover  no  means  for  a  higher  ascent.  On  turning 
the  angle,  we  perceived  a  chasm  in  the  rock,  as  if  it  had 
been  rent  in  twain  by  some  mighty  convulsion.  This 
chasm  extended  back  some  twenty  feet  to  another  rock, 
which  rose  perpendicularly  to  a  great  height,  and  was  just 
wide  enough  to  permit  one  person  to  enter  it  at  a  time. 
The  fissure,  however,  did  not  descend  to  the  bottom  of  the 
basin,  from  which  we  had  ascended,  but  only  about  four 
feet  below  the  platform  rock  on  which  we  stood.     To  ena- 

22 


254  CLARA   MORELAND. 

ble  one  to  pass  down  into  it  easily,  some  stones,  probably 
thrown  in  from  above,  were  arranged  in  the  form  of  steps ; 
and  this  led  us  to  infer  that  the  chasm  communicated  with 
a  still  more  secret  retreat.  At  all  events,  since  we  had 
ventured  thus  far,  we  determined  to  know  for  a  certainty 
whether  our  surmise  were  correct  or  not. 

Accordingly  we  descended  into  the  opening,  very  cau- 
tiously, and  moved  forward  in  the  same  manner.  High 
above  us,  on  either  side,  rose  the  granite  rocks,  solid  and 
stupendous ;  nor  could  we  discover  any  other  opening  till 
near  the  end  of  the  passage,  when  we  came  suddenly  upon 
the  mouth  of  a  cavern  in  the  rock  to  the  right.  It  yawned 
upon  us  with  midnight  blackness,  and  so  impressed  me 
with  something  terrible,  that  I  felt  my  hair  rise  and  the 
blood  run  cold  in  my  veins. 

Was  it  inhabited?  That  it  had  been,  and  very  recently, 
I  did  not  doubt — but  was  it  inhabited  now  ?  We  listened, 
but  could  hear  no  sound, — all  was  dark,  and  chill,  and 
silent,  as  the  chamber  of  depth. 

"  Shall  we  explore  it  ?"  I  ventured  to  whisper  to  Walter, 
who  like  myself  stood  gazing  upon  it  in  awe. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?"  was  his  whispered  reply.  "  No, 
no,  Walton — we  have  ventured  far  enough  already — too 
far,  perhaps,  for  our  safety.  Let  us  return  ;  I  shall  not 
breathe  freely  till  my  foot  is  once  more  in  the  open  wood." 

At  this  moment  a  strange,  wild,  unaccountable  thrill 
pervaded  my  frame,  and  I  felt  impelled  onward,  as  by  the 
invisible  hand  of  destiny.  Whoever  has  approached  the 
brink  of  an  awful  precipice,  and,  while  gazing  shudderingly 
down,  has  felt  an  almost  irresistible  something  urging  him 
to  take  the  fatal  leap,  and  thus  rashly  enter  upon  the 
dread  Unknown,  will  understand  something  of  the  sensa- 
tion I  now  experienced,  but  cann*ot  describe. 

"  I  must  go  forward,"  I  whispered  to  Walter. 

"  No  !   no  !"  he  said,  hurriedly — "  let   us   turn  back. 


RESUSCITATION,   AND   T7nAT   FOLLOWED.        255 

This  is  undoubtedly  the  rendezvous  of  a  banditti,  of  whose 
formidable  existence  I  never  before  dreamed,  and  more 
especially  that  Warncliff  is  one  of  them ;  but  we  shall  gain 
nothing  by  entering  their  foul  den ;  and  should  we  be 
discovered,  farewell  to  life !  and  woe  to  our  friends,  whose 
rescue  we  seek !" 

"  I  must  go  forward,"  I  replied,  firmly ;  "  and  will, 
though  I  go  alone." 

"Nay,  then,  if  you  are  set  upon  the  venture,"  he  re-, 
joined,  "  I  will  be  your  companion,  though  death  be  the 
penalty." 

I  grasped  his  hand,  pressed^  it  hard,  and  without  utter- 
ing another  syllable,  immediately  began  to  feel  my  way 
into  the  awful  darkness.  The  passage  I  now  entered  was 
smooth  and  level  under  foot ;  and  keeping  hold  upon  the 
rocks  on  one  side,  I  groped  my  way  forward  some  two 
hundred  feet,  as  near  as  I  could  judge  ;  then  bidding  Wal- 
ter, who  was  close  behind  me,  stand  still,  and  look  with 
all  his  eyes,  I  discharged  a  pistol. 

For  an  instant  the  flash  lit  up  the  gloom  around  us;  and 
we  had  barely  time  to  perceive  that  we  stood  in  a  large 
cavern,  when  all  was  again  dark ;  but  not  still ;  for  the 
report  echoed  and  re-echoed,  and  went  rolling  away,  away, 
away,  till  it  seemed  to  fairly  die  out  in  the  distance.  By 
this  we  knew  that  the  cave  was  of  great  dimensions,  and 
extended  far,  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 

"We  must  have  a  light,"  said  I;  "and  I  doubt  not 
the  materials  are.here  for  keeping  it  burning,  if  we  can 
only  see  to  find  them." 

AVith  this  I  poured  some  powder  into  the  pan  of  the 
pistol — which  was  one  I  had  received  from  Walter—and 
by  flashing  the  powder,  ignited  some  raw  cotton  which  we 
carried  for  wadding.  This  flame  I  continued  to  feed,  while 
Walter  made  a  hurried  search  for  some  more  durable  com- 
bustible.    Fortune  favored  us;  and   presently  he  came 


256  CLARA   MORELAND. 

running  to  me  with  a  half-burnt  torch,  which  he  had  found 
on  the  ground.  Having  lighted  this,  we  renewed  our 
exploration  in  a  more  satisfactory  manner. 

By  the  gloomy  light  of  the  torch,  we  could  see  the  rocky 
ceiling  of  the  cave  far  above  our  heads,  and  the  rocky  wall 
nearest  us ;  but  in  every  other  direction  a  pall  of  rayless 
darkness  shut  in  the  vision — denoting  the  cavern,  as  the 
echoes  of  our  pistol  had  in  fact  proved  it  to  be,  of  vast 
xtent  and  magnitude.  Moving  away  from  the  wall  toward 
the  centre  of  this  subterranean  cavity,  we  soon,  greatly  to 
our  surprise,  stumbled  upon  a  forge,  around  which  lay 
tools  of  various  kinds,  and,  scattered  carelessly  about,  a 
few  pieces  of  bogus  coin  of  the  Mexican  stamp. 

*'  Counterfeiters,  as  well  as  robbers  and  murderers  !" 
exclaimed  I:  "this  is  the  second  fountain-head  of  spurious 
issue  I  have  discovered  in  Texas." 

"  Hist !  hark !"  said  "Walter,  grasping  my  arm  and 
speaking  in  a  whisper.  "  I  heard  a  noise :  I  fear  we  are 
discovered." 

I  listened  with  suppressed  breath  and  a  beating  heart. 
Presently  I  heard  a  stifled  groan.     My  blood  ran  cold. 

"  There  it  is  again  !"  said  Walter.  "  Quick  !  out  with 
the  light !" 

"  Hush  !  listen !"  returned  I. 

Again  I  heard  the  moan.     My  hair  stood  on  end. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  some  human  being  in  distress  !"  I  whis- 
pered. 

Again  I  heard  the  moan,  and  felt  my  conjecture 
strengthened. 

"  This  way,"  said  I — "follow  me ;"  and  I  set  forward  in 
the  direction  whence  the  sound  proceeded. 

After  advancing  about  fifty  feet,  we  came  to  a  projecting 
wall,  which  partially  divided  the  cavern.  Hei  e  we  paused 
and  breathlessly  listened.  Presently  we  hear  1  the  sound 
again — low  and  stifled — but  evidently  near  us.    I  hastened 


RESUSCITA-nON   AND  WHAT  FOLLOWED.  1      257 

to  examine  the  rocks  ;  and  soon  discovered  what  appeared 
to  be  a  small  cavity,  closed  up  by  movable  stones. 

"  Perhaps  some  human  being  is  here  buried  alive  I" 
exclaimed  I,  with  a  shudder ;  and,  as  if  in  answer  to  my 
suggestion,  we  distinctly  heard  the  moan  come  up  from 
the  stones. 

"  Good  heavens  !  it  is  so  !"  cried  "Walter. 

To  tear  away  these  stones  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 
A  small  cavity  was  thus  disclosed,  within  which,  half- 
doubled  together,  lay  a  human  being. 

Instantly  I  held  the  torch  to  his  face. 

Almighty  Providence !  The  ruddy  light  flashed  upon 
the  pale  features  of  Morton  Harley,  gagged  and  bound 


N 


CHAPTER    XXIL 

AN   OLD   FOE   IN  THE   FIELD. 

I  WAS  so  astonished,  so  taken  by  surprise,  and  withal 
experienced  such  an  overwhelming  rush  of  joy,  that  for 
some  moments  I  stood  speechless  and  motionless,  gazing 
upon  my  friend,  and  almost  doubting  the  reality  of  what 
I  saw.  Then  handing  the  torch  to  Walter,  I  gently  drew 
Harley  from  his  sepulchre,  cut  the  cords  that  bound  him, 
and  removed  the  gag  from  his  mouth.  He  looked  up  in 
my  face  while  I  was  doing  this,  and  never,  never  shall  I 
forget  the  expression  of  unspeakable  joy  and  gratitude 
which  lighted  his  pale  features.  He  essayed  to  speak ; 
but  the  transition  from  death  to  life,  from  life  to  liberty, 
had  been  too  sudden,  too  unexpected,  for  his  now  weak 
17  2?* 


/ 


258  ICLARA   MORELAND. 

nerves  to  sustain  the  almost  heart-bursting  emotions,  and 
he  fainted. 

Both  Walter  and  I  ■were  now  alarmed  lest  this  "  coun- 
terfeit presentment"  should  prove  to  be  death  itself;  and 
■we  eagerly  set  to  ■work,  chafing  his  limbs,  blowing  our 
breath  into  his  lungs,  and  rolling  him  from  side  to  side, 
for  we  knew  not  what  better  to  do. 

At  length  Walter  exclaimed  : 

"  He  lives  !  he  lives  !"  and  almost  at  the  same  instant 
Harley  drew  a  long,  gasping  breath,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

As  before,  he  fixed  them  upon  me ;  and  then  feebly 
raised  his  hands,  as  if  for  an  embrace.  I  bent  quickly 
down,  and  he  clasped  them  around  my  neck ;  and  both  of 
us  burst  into  tears — the  only  vent  we  could  find  for  our 
over-charged  feelings.  Harley  was  the  first  to  speak  ; 
but  his  voice  was  feeble,  and  trembled  with  the  deepest 
emotion. 

"  Harry,"  he  said,  "  this  is  not  the  work  of  chance- — 
God  has  done  it." 

"  Yes,  my  friend,"  I  replied,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  feel- 
ing, "  God  has  done  it ;"  and  silently,  from  our  hearts, 
then  and  there,  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  ascended  fer- 
vent thanksgiving  to  the  Throne  of  Grace. 

It  was  some  time  ere  we  could  ijubdue  onr  emotions  so 
as  to  hold  any  conversation ;  but  as  we  began  to  grow 
more  calm,  I  said  : 

"  My  dear  friend,  pray  tell  me  how  it  is  I  find  you 
here  \  for  though  Warncliff  doomed  me  to  an  awful  death, 
I  did  not  dream  he  would  carry  his  'ferocity  so  far  as  to 
bury  you  alive,  though  you  were  my  friend." 

"  This  was  not  the  work  of  Warnclifi*,  Harry." 

"  Ha  !  whose  then  ?"  demanded  I,  quickly. 

"  The  work  of  one  who  has  good  reason  to  hate  us  both." 

*'Well!  well!  say  on  !" 

«  Count  D'Estang." 


AN  OLD  FOE  IN   THE   FIELD.  259 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  I,  in  astonishment;  "you  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  you  have  been  in  the  power  of  that 
man,  Morton  ?" 

*'  It  is  too  true :  he  is  the  Captain-General  of  a  banditti, 
■which  ^umbers  I  know  not  how  many,  and  of  which  AYarn- 
cliff  is  merely  a  subordinate  officer." 

"You  astonish  me,  Morton  I"  cried  I;  "not  in  saying 
that  D'Estang  is  a  bandit  chief — for  that  we  knew  before ; 
but  with  the  fact  that  his  head-quarters  are  now  here — 
that  you  should  so  singularly  have  been  thrown  into  his 
power — and  that  WarncliiF  belongs  to  the  same  band  of 
desperadoes  which  assailed  us  once  before.  But  go  on — tell 
your  story.     Yet  stay  !  perhaps  we  are  not  safe  here  !" 

"  I  think  we  are  for  the  present,  Harry — though  it  will 
not  be  prudent  for  us  to  delay  our  departure  too  long." 

"But  where  are  the  freebooters  now  ?"  inquired  Walter. 

"  From  some  conversation  I  overheard  between  D'Estang 
and  Warncliff,  I  think  they  have  set  oiF  on  an  expedition 
to  join  the  Mexicans,"  replied  Harley. 

"  Ah  !  we  feared  so,"  said  I,  with  a  sigh,  as  my  thoughts 
reverted  to  poor  Clara. 

"And  yet  I  think  we  have  no  reason  to  regret  their 
hasty  departure,  be  it  for  what  destination  it  may,"  re- 
joined Harley  ;  "  for  even  in  this  I  see  the  mysterious  work 
ing  of  Providence  for  our  good." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  Why,  had  they  remained  here,  in  all  probability  you 
would  have  fallen  into  their  clutches  ;  and  I,  to  say  the 
least,  might  have  expired  under  the  horrible  doom  from 
which  you  have  rescued  me." 

"  It  is  even  so,"  said  I,  thoughtfully.  "  God  works  for 
the  best;  and  instead  of  repining,  we  should  rather  be 
thankful  that  matters  are  no  worse  than  they  are ;  though 
not  to  complain — not  to  wish  things  otherwise,  be  our  cir- 
cumstances what  they  may,   good  or  bad — would   be  to 


260  CLAEA  MOKELAND. 


prove  ourselves  exceptions  to  the  human  race  generally. 
But  pray  go  on  with  your  story,  Morton !" 

"  Rather  let  me  hear  yours  first,"  he  replied ;  "  and 
how  I  find  you  and  Walter  so  mysteriously  standing  to- 
gether here,  when  you  at  least  I  believed  beyond  the  pain 
of  mortality." 

"  There  is  little  of  mystery  in  my  case,  though  much  of 
Providence,"  I  answered  ;  and  I  proceeded  to  narrate  the 
striking  events  with  which  I  had  been  connected  since  our 
separation ;  how  I  had  been  executed,  cut  down  by  Walter, 
and  restored  to  life ;  how  we  had  followed  the  trail  of  our 
foes,  day  after  day ;  and  finally,  how  we  had  been  led  to 
find  this  secret  cavern,  together  with  the  unaccountable 
impulse  w^hich  had  impelled  me,  even  against  reason,  to 
enter  it,  and  so  save  the  life  of  my  dearest  friend. 

"  Wonderful !  wonderful ! — Fate  !  Fate  ! — Providence  ! 
Providence!  — God  !  God  !"  were  the  several  ejaculations  of 
Harley,  as  I  concluded  my  narration.  "  Oh,  man  !  man  !" 
he  apostrophised :  "  One  of  God's  most  wonderful  machines ! 
when  will  knowledge,  emanating  from  the  Supreme  Fount, 
enable  thee  to  understand  thyself?  Do  you  remember, 
Harry,"  he  continued,  "the  strange  presentiments  we  both 
had  of  the  near,  approach  of  Death?  Ah!  we  truly 
heard  the  rattling  of  his  bony  tread ;  we  have  since  seen 
him  face  to  face ;  and  yet  we  stand  on  mortal  ground,  in 
mortal  form,  to  tell  it.  Wonderful !  most  wonderful !"  and 
he  relapsed  into  a  fit  of  abstraction,  something  similar  to 
those  exhibited  in  our  early  acquaintance,  as  described  in 
"Viola." 

I  addressed  him  several  times  without  getting  an  answer, 
and  in  fact  without  his  comprehending  a  word  I  said  ;  and 
it  was  not  till  I  had  shaken  him  somewhat  severely,  that 
he  seemed  recalled  to  himself.  At  length  he  looked  up 
and  around,  with  a  start  of  surprise,  and  said,  hurriedly : 

"Where  am  I  ?    where  am  I?"      And  then,    without 


AN   OLD   FOE   IN   THE   FIELD.  261 

giving  me  time  to  reply,  as  hurriedly  proceeded  :  "  Ah ! 
I  see — I  understand — my  mind  has  been  wandering  again 
— Ihe  old  disease.  I  thought  myself  rid  of  it.  God  send 
I  may  never  lose  my  reason  ! — that  a  mental  night  of  utter 
darkness  may  never  settle  upon  my  senses!"  and  as  he 
spoke,  a  visible  shudder  passed  over  his  frame. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  Harry  !"  he  continued,  noticing 
the  expression  of  anxiety  which  had  fixed  itself  upon  my 
features.  "  Do  not  be  alarmed  !  I  feel  better  now.  My 
head  did  feel  strangely — but  the  awful  sensation  is  passing 
away.  Ah !  let  me  see  !  I  was  telling  you  something  of 
myself,  was  I  not  ?" 

"  You  were  about  to  tell  us  of  what  has  happened,  to 
your  knowledge,  since  we  were  parted  by  our  foes  ?" 

"  True !  true  !  I  was  about  to  tell  you ;  you  are  right. 
Well,  I  will  tell  you  now ;  and  then  we  must  hasten  our 
departure  ;  for  I  do  not  think  it  prudent  nor  safe  to  remain 
here  longer  than  is  necessary.  The  blood  begins  to  circu- 
late in  my  late  corded  limbs  ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  trust  ^pK 
to  be  able  to  leave  this  cavern  of  death  forever." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  I  suppose,  to  describe  our  journey 
hither,"  pursued  Harley  ;  "  and  therefore  I  will  commence 
by  saying,  that  we  arrived  here  in  the  afternoon  of  yester- 
day— the  Colonel  and  I  both  bound,  as  wJien  we  separated 
from  you.'* 

•  ".But  Clara!"  exclaimed  I:  "first  tell  me  of  Clara! 
was  she  not  with  you?" 

"Yes,  she  travelled  with  us,  closely  guarded;  but 
neither  her  father  nor  myself  were  allowed  to  speak  to 
her,  nor  she  to  us." 

"?ut  she  was  not  bound,  Morton?  do  not  tell  me  that 
Warnclifi"  carried  his  ruffianism  that  far  ?" 

"  She  was  not  bound  in  the  day-time,"  repHed  Harley; 
"but  I  think  some  restraint  was  put  upon  her  limbs  at 
night.'; 


262  ci'A?.A   MORELAND. 

"  And  how  was  she  treated  ?" 

*'  I  saw  no  violence  offered  to  her  on  the  journey  ;  nor 
were  the  Colonel  and  I  maltreated,  otherwise  than  in  being 
kept  bound  and  close  prisoners." 

"Well,  proceed!" 

"  When  we  arrived  here,  we  were  met  by  another  strong 
party  of  brigands;  who,  from  the  manner  in  which  .they 
greeted  WarnclijQf  and  his  men,  led  *me  to  infer  that  we 
were  expected.  We  were  conducted  to  the  foot  of  the 
rocks  below  here,  and  were  then  raised  to  the  platform 
above  by  means  of  ropes.  We  were  thence  escorted  into 
the  cavern ;  where,  to  my  surprise  and  dismay,  I  found 
myself  confronted  with  D'Estang.  He  bowed  with  mock 
politeness,  and  smiled ;  but  such  a  smile  !  I  shudder  now  at 
the  remembrance  of  it :  for  concentrated  hate  and  devilish 
malignity,  Satan  himself  might  have  envied  it. 

"  '  So,  Mr.  Harley,'  he  said,  *  we  meet  again  :  I  am  glad 
to  see  you.' 

"^I  do  not  doubt  it,'  was  my  reply;  nor  did  I:  he 
evidently  was  glad  to  see  me  :  but,  much  to  my  regret,  I 
was  not  in  a  condition  to  return  the  compliment. 

"  '  Yes,'  he  pursued,  *  when  we  last  saw  each  other, 
I  think  you  had  a  little  the  advantage  of  me — now  the 
tables  are  turned.' 

"  *  If  you  use  your  advantage  as  moderately  as  I  did 
mine,  I  will  not  complain,'  said  I. 

"  '  Let  me  see  !'  he  replied  ;  *  you  were  very  moderate, 
I  think.  You  and  your  companion  entered  my  premises 
like  a  couple  of  thieves ;  and  besides  making  me  a  prisoner 
in  my  own  dwelling,  locking  me  up  in  a  dungeon,  you  bore 
away  my  intended  bride,  and  her  reputed  father,  on  my 
own  horses.     Very  moderate  you  were,  indeed  !' 

" '  Our  own  safety  compelled  us  to  do  so,'  I  replied ; 
*  but  so  soon  as  we  had  escaped,  we  left  your  horses  whero 


AN    OLD   FOE   IN   THE   FIELD.  263 

you  could  get  them,  and  sent  to  have  you  released  from 
confinement.' 

"  '  I  believe  you  did  ;  and  I  suppose  you  think  I  ought 
to  thank  you  on  my  knees  for  your  generosity.  But  if 
I  remember  rightly,  you  bore  off  the  girl  Viola  ?' 

"  *  And  made  her  my  wife,'  said  I. 

"  *  Ah  !  yes — made  her  your  wife — for  which  you  doubt- 
less think  I  should  be  very  grateful  also.  Now  if  the  girl 
were  here,  so  that  I  could  return  your  generosity  in  kind, 
I  think  I  could  easily  prevail  upon  myself  to  do  it ;  but  as 
she  is  absent,  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  paying  my 
debt  of  gratitude  to  you  in  some  other  way — not  forgetting 
the  interest,  which  having  been  some  months  accumulating, 
must  of  course  be  added  to  the  principal.  Let  me  see  ! 
you  locked  me  in  a  dungeon,  and  carried  away  my  intended 
bride,  making  her  your  own,  and  getting  a  fortune  for  your 
trouble.  I  cannot  do  the  same  by  you,  for  a  sufiBcient 
reason  ;  but  so  far  as  I  can  do,  I  will  do.  You  locked  me 
up  in  a  dungeon,  and  afterward  gave  orders  to  have  me 
liberated.  Now  I  will  place  you  in  a  dungeon,  and  give 
no  such  directions  for  your  release.  And  as'I  think  there 
is  still  a  balance  in  your  favor,  I  will  endeavor  to  make  up 
the  deficiency  by  allowing  you  to  remain  there  for  life. 

"  I  shuddered  at  the  thought — I  could  not  help  it. 

"  *  There — no  thanks  !'  he  pursued,  mockingly,  with  ano- 
ther fiend-like  smile.  '  I  must  be  permitted  to  equal  you 
in  generosity — it  is  my  nature.  I  do  not  like  to  owe  debts 
of  this  kind,  especially  when  it  is  in  my  power  to  pay 
them.  And,  by-the-by,*  he  continued,  *  I  will  add  to  my 
kindness  in  this  way.  Lest  in  trying  to  get  out  you  should 
bruise  yourself  against  the  unfeeling  stones,  I  will  confine 
your  limbs  by  cords ;  and  for  fear  you  may  injure  your 
lungs  and  voice,  by  trying  them  too  much,  I  will  have  a  gag 
put  in  your  mouth ;  and  that  the  presence  of  others  may 


264  CLARA   MORELAND. 


not  be  an  aggravation  to  you,  thus  deprived  of  the  power 
of  speech,  all  shall  be  removed;  and  in  perfect  solitude 
and  silence,  you  shall  wait  the  coming  of  death  to  take  you 
heavenward.  You  see,  therefore,  I  am  disposed  to  be 
careful  of  you,  and  you  ought  to  be  grateful.' 

"As  he  concluded,  the  bandits,  who  had  gathered 
around  to  listen  to  my  sentence,  set  up  a  shout  of  horrid 
laughter  that  made  my  blood  run  cold.  Despair  now 
seized  upon  my  heart,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  should  sink  to  the 
earth.  I  thought  of  Viola,  and  my  agony  was  complete ; 
and,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  believe  I  uttered  a  groan. 

"  D'Estang  calmly  enjoyed  his  triumph  for  a  few  mo- 
ments ;  and  then  turning  to  Colonel  Moreland,  addressed 
him  in  a  sterner  tone  than  he  had  used  toward  me — though, 
being  devoid  of  irony,  it  sounded  not  half  so  fiendish. 

"You,  sir!'  he  said,  Reserve  something  at  my  hands; 
but  I  shall  waive  my  right  to  punish  you,  and  leave  you 
wholly  in  the  hands  of  Willard  WarnclifF,  your  future 
son-in-law.' 

" '  He  shall  never  bear  that  relation  to  me,  by  my 
consent,  the  villain !'  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  indignantly. 

"Warncliff,  who  was  standing  near,  on  hearing  these 
words',  sprung  fiercely  toward  the  Colonel,  and  raised  his 
hand  with  the  intention  of  striking  him — but  was  arrested 
by  the  voice  of  his  chief. 

"^Hold!'  cried  D'Estang :  *when  I  sit  in  judgment,  1 
allow  no  subordinate  to  interfere.  Retire,  sir,  beyond 
hearing !'  And  as  Warncliif,  obedient  to  his  command, 
withdrew  from  the  group,  with  a  crest-fallen  countenance, 
the  other  proceeded:  'As  to  your  consent.  Colonel 
Moreland,  I  suppose  it  will  make  little  difference  with  the 
parties  concerned,  whether  it  is  obtained  or  not;  but  it 
may  be  that  you  will  be  glad  to  give  it,  and  a' fortune  with 
it :  you  understand  me  V 

"*I  think  I  do  understand  you,  so  far  as  an  honest, 


AN  OLD  FOE  IN  THE  FIELD.  265 

upright  man  may  understand  a  villainous  thief,  robber  and 
assassin !' 

"  At  these  words  D'Estang  turned  pale  with  anger,  and 
his  eyes  fairly  glowed  like  coals  of  fire.  Instantly  drawing 
a  pistol,  he  presented  it  to  the  Colonel's  head,  and  I 
expected  to  see  his  brains  scattered  where  he  stood.  But 
he  changed  his  design,  and  returned  the  pistol  to  its  place, 
saying,  as  he  did  so : 

"*No!  I  have  promised  Warncliff  that  I  would  not 
harm  you — that  he  alone  shall  decide  your  fate — and  I 
will  keep  my  word;  but  policy,  if  not  a  fear  of  the 
consequences,  should  dictate  to  you  less  aggravating 
replies.  But  you  have  had  some  cause  for  intemperance 
in  language ;  and  I  can  overlook  that  in  one  of  your  years, 
which  I  could  not  in  one  younger  than  myself.  Let  me 
see  !  I  believe  I  did  once  lay  you  under  contribution  to  the 
extent  of  a  span  of  fine  horses ;  which,  now  that  we  are 
on  the  subject,  I  may  as  well  inform  you  were  procured 
for  me  through  the  aid  of  your  future  son-in-law.' 

"  '  Ha !'  cried  the  Colonel ;  *  then  I  did  not  suspect  you 
wrongly  ?  and  Willard  Warncliff" — the  son  of  my  friend — 
a  youth  whom  I  loved  and  took  as  it  were  to  my  bosom — 
was  even  then  a  thief?  was  even  then  robbing  his  bene- 
factor ?  Well !  well !  I  never  suspected  him  before,  though 
I  did  you ;  but  I  am  now  prepared  to  believe  either  of  you 
capable  of  any  meanness,  of  any  crime,  from  picking  a 
pocket  up  to  highway  murder.* 

"  *  And  we  are  now  prepared  to  let  you  believe  what  you 
like,'  returned  D'Estang,  coolly;  'and,  for  the  present,  to 
say  what  you  please.  But  let  me  tell  you,  by  the  way, 
that  had  you  suspected  less  in  one  place,  and  more  in 
another  at  one  time  —  and  had  your  daughter,  when 
affianced  to  Warncliff",  been  less  romantically  foolish,  kept 
to  her  word,  and  not  fallen  in  love  with  a  stranger,  and 

23 


266  CLARA  MORELAND. 

even  ran  awaj  with  him,  through  one  of  your  short  sighted 
blunders — you  would  not  be  in  your  present  predicament, 
and  be  obliged  to  hear  these  disagreeable  truths.  But  no  ! 
a  designing  stranger  was  welcomed  into  your  family,  and' 
allowed  to  take  high  place  in  your  regard ;  and  being  an 
upstart  braggart,  he  must,  as  a  natural  consequence,  begin 
his  acquaintance  by  boasting  of  his  wonderful  exploits ;  and 
among  the  rest,  his  triumph  over  me  ;  and  then  for  the  first 
time  it  occurred  to  you  that  you  might  as  well  have  a  hand 
in  the  dish — more  especially  as  you  thought  there  might  be 
something  gained,  without  any  loss  or  risk.  He  told  you 
I  was  a  counterfeiter;  and  believing  his  story,  you  in 
return  told  him  that  you  suspected  me  of  being  a  thief; 
and  so  between  you  it  was  agreed  that  you  should  write  to 
the  Sheriff  of  Brazoria  County  and  have  me  arrested. 

"  *  Well,  you  did  write  ;  but  your  letter  was  intercepted, 
and  your  plan  foiled.  Luckily  there  was  a  faithful  spy  in 
your  confidence ;  and  through  him  I  was  informed  of  your 
kind  intentions  in  time  to  thwart  them.  Lest  you  might 
succeed  eventually,  I  thought  it  better  to  change  my 
quarters.  Not  that  I  feared  the  Sheriff  and  all  the  men 
he  might  raise,  mark  you! — for  I  had,  and  still  have,  a 
hundred  dare-devils  at  my  command;  but  some  of  these 
were  away  at  the  time ;  and  I  thought  it  advisable  to 
remove  out  of  the  county,  and  avoid  any  open  rupture  with 
the  oflBcers  of  the  law — by  which,  though  I  might  lose 
nothing,  I  certainly  could  gain  nothing. 

" '  I  therefore  sold  my  splendid  mansion  and  grounds  at 
a  pecuniary  sacrifice ;  and  here  you  find  me — as  safely, 
though  less  elegantly  quartered.  As  I  have  thus  lost 
much  by  you — after  deducting  the  price  of  the  horses — 
and  as  I  understand  you  are  wealthy,  I  have  no  doubt. 
Colonel  Moreland,  if  you  ever  return  to  your  friends,  you 
will  first  be  under  the  neceesity  of  making  my  loss  good, 
besides  doing  something  handsome  for  your  worthy  son-in- 


AN    OLD    FOE    IN    THE    FIELD.  267 


law.  But  as  all  these  arrangements  must  be  between  you 
and  "VYarnclifF;  and  us  I  have  now  given  you  an  idea  of 
what  is  expected,  and  for  what  reason,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  prolong  this  interview.  You  may  therefore  retire,  and 
reflect  on  what  you  have  just  heard.' 

"  The  Colonel  now  moved  away,"  continued  Harley, 
"  without  making  any  reply — doubtless  thinking  it  politic 
not  to  bandy  words  in  his  excited  state  of  mind."         \ 

"And  where  was  Clara  all  this  time?"  I  inquired. 

"  She  had  previously  been  conducted  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  cave,  where  she  could  not  overhear  the  conversation. 
I  did  not  see  her  afterward.  Well,  on  the  withdrawal  of 
the  Colonel,"  pursued  my  friend,  "D'Estang  turned  again 
to  me,  and  said : 

"  *  You  see,  young  man,  that  I  have  pretty  extensive 
arrangements ;  and  though  you  were  foolish  enough  at  one 
time  to  flatter  yourself  that  you  could  easily  have  handed 
me  over  to  the  law,  yet  had  you  tried  it,  and  remained  to 
Bee  it  accomplished,  you  and  your  friend  would  have 
awaked  some  fine  morning  and  found  your  delicate 
throats  cut  from  ear  to  ear.  And  better  for  you  both, 
perhaps,  had  it  been  so;  for  he  would  thus  have  been 
spared  the  halter,  and  you  a  less  pleasing  death  than  his. 
The  fact  is,  your  time  had  not  then  come ;  for  you  almost 
miraculously  escaped  me  on  your  return  to  Galveston ;  but 
the  case  is  diff*erent  now ;  your  time  has  come,  and  your 
friend  is  already  dead.  Thus  do  I  always,  sooner  or  later, 
triumph  over  my  foes,  and  all  meddling  knaves.' 

"With  this  he  turned  away,  and  spoke  apart  with  a 
couple  of  his  folloj\'ers ;  who  then  advanced  to  me,  and 
led  me  to  the  spot  where  we  now  are.  Here  they  pro- 
ceeded to  throw  me  on  my  back,  gag  me,  bind  my  legs, 
and  tighten  the  cords  around  my  arms.  This  done,  they 
thrust  me  into  the  hole  where  you  found  me,  and  closed  up 
the  entrance  with  stones. 


268  CLARA   MORELAND. 

* ^ 

"  I  will  not  pretend  to  describe  my  feelings,  when  I 
thus  found  myself  gagged,  and  bound,  and  buried  alive, 
and  left  there  to  starve. — Something  you  may  imagine, 
and  that  something  is  enough — for  horrors  should  not  be 
dwelt  upon. 

"  After  I  had  been  shut  in  there,  I  heard  the  sounds 
of  boisterous"'  mirth,  which  continued  for  several  hours ; 
and  while  this  was  going  on,  D'Estang  and  Warncliff  held 
a  consultation  near  me — probably  having  selected  this  part 
of  the  cave  as  being  close  at  hand,  and  still  beyond  inter- 
ruption. I  could  only  now  and  then  catch  a  word,  or  a 
short  sentence,  of  their  conversation  ;  but  what  I  did  hear, 
led  me  to  believe  they  were  discussing  the  plan  of  an  ex- 
pedition to  the  frontier  of  Mexico ;  there  to  open  a  kind 
of  Guerilla  warfare — ostensibly  against  the  Americans,  to 
give  an  air  of  lawfulness  to  their  proceedings — but  with 
the  real  design  of  plundering  any  and  every  body  that 
might  fall  into  their  hands." 

"  This  would  at  least  be  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of 
their  proceedings,"  said  I. 

"  Well  this,  as  I  s^id,  I  think  is  their  intention ;  and 
therefore  I  do  not  feel  very  apprehensive  of  a  sudden 
return  hither.  But  still  we  had  better  not  venture  delay 
on  that  account — for  there  is  no  knowing  what  may  happen. 

"  But  to  conclude  my  story. 

"  At  last  all  became  quiet,  and  so  remained  for  two  or 
three  hours,  when  I  heard  sounds  of  preparation  for  depar- 
ture. These  lasted  perhaps  an  hour ;  and  then  all  gradu- 
ally died  away,  and  a  deep,  unbroken  stillness  prevailed. 

"  Oh !  the  awful,  soul-sickening  desolation  which  fol- 
lowed !  'Human  language  could  not  describe  it ;  and  Heaven 
forefend  that  you  ever  feel  it  as  I  felt  it !  Death  stared 
me  in  the  face — and  such  a  death !  Death  by  starvation, 
alone,  in  the  solitude  of  eternal  silence — alone,  in  the  dark- 
ness of  eternal  night ! — buried  alive  beyond  human  aid ! — 


AN  OLD  FOE   IN  THE  FIELD.  269 


buried  alive  beyond  the  voices  of  nature  !  I  would  have 
given  worlds,  had  they  been  mine,  to  hear  once  more  the 
sound  of  a  human  voice— the  roar  of  waters — the  sighing 
of  the  breeze — or  even  the  chirp  of  a. cricket,— any  thing 
to  break  that  awful,  death-like,  desolating  silence  !  Oh  ! 
my  God!  my  God!  may  I  never  forget  to  thank  Thee, 
daily,  on  my  knees,  for  this  deliverance  ! 

"  I  scarcely  need  tell  you  that  the  first  sounds  I  heard, 
after  the  departure  of  the  brigands,  were  your  voice  and 
the  discharge  of  your  pistol.  The  words  I  did  not  hear — 
the  voice  I  did  not  recognize ;  but  it  was  at  least  human  ; 
it  proceeded  from  mortal  lips  ;  some  living  being  of  my 
kind  was  near  me  ;  and  oh  !  you  know  not,  my  friends — 
you  never  can  know — what  I  felt  in  that  moment !  I  had 
no  right  to  hope  for  release ;  and  yet,  somehow,  I  felt  that 
God  had  not  deserted  me ;  and  a  thrill  of  inexpressible 
joy  went  through  my  frame.  I  could  not  speak — but  I 
could  moan — and  by  this  means  you  were  drawn  to  me. 
When  I  found  that  I  was  about  to  obtain  my  liberty,  I 
thought  I  should  go  mad  with  joy ;  and  when,  by  the  light 
of  the  torch,  Harry,  I  beheld  your  face,  whom  I  believed 
dead,  methought  I  had  gone  mad,  truly,  and  that  this  was 
one  of  the  visions  of  a  disordered  brain." 

During  Harley's  recital  of  his  singular  adventures, 
Walter  sat  and  watched  him  in  silence ;  but  though  he 
opened  not  his  lips,  the  workings  of  his  countenance 
plainly  showed  the  emotions  excited  by  the  thrilling  narra- 
tion ;  and  more  than  once,  while  Harley  was  speaking  of 
his  father,  WarnclifF,  and  D'Estang,  he  clutched  his  rifle 
with  an  iron  grip,  and  half-started  to  his  feet,  as  if  he  fan- 
cied his  foes  were  even  now  standing  within  the  reach  of 
his  vengeance.  He  grew  calmer  toward  the  last;  and 
when  my  friend  ceased  speaking,  he  said,  as  if  in  answer 
to  a  mental  question : 

23* 


270  CLARA  MORELAND. 

"  Yes,  they  have  undoubtedly  set  off  for  the  frontier  of 
Mexico,  and  we  must  follow  them.  One  thing  is  evident 
from  the  words  of  D'Estang,  and  this  takes  a  weight  from 
my  mind — they  do  not  intend  immediate  personal  violence 
to  my  father  nor  Clara  ;  and  if  my  father  will  only  let  po- 
licy govern  his  speech,  we  shall  yet  triumph  in  their  rescue. 
How  narrowly  have  we  all  escaped  death  !  how  wonderfully 
have  we  been  br.ought  together  !  how  singularly  all  their 
designs  against  us  personally  have  been  frustrated !  and 
surely  the  same  wise  Providence  that  hath  worked  so  mira- 
culously in  our  behalf,  will  not  desert  us  now." 

"  No  !"  cried  I,  feeling  my  heart  bound  under  the  ex- 
hilarating emotion  of  newly  awakened  hope :  ^'  No ! 
Heaven  is  with  us,  and  we  must  and  shall  succeed. 
But  come  !  this  is  no  longer  a  place  for  us :  let  us  begone." 

*'  I  am  unarmed,"  said  Harley :  "  perhaps  there  may  be 
■weapons  here." 

"A  good  idea — let  us  search,"  replied  Walter. 

We  did  search,  and  were  presently  rewarded  by  dis- 
covering a  large  chest ;  which,  on  being  opened,  displayed 
a  small  armory,  consisting  of  pistols,  cutlasses,  knives, 
poniards,  some  three  or  four  short  rifles,  a  dozen  canisters 
of  powder,  as  many  pounds  of  balls,  and  at  least  fifty 
weight  of  bogus  coin.  The  joy  of  a  miser,  on  finding  a 
bag  of  gold,  could  not  exceed  wnat  we  experienced  on 
making  this  discovery ',  and  we  hastened  to  arm  ourselves 
to  our  complete  satisfaction — Harley  observing  : 

"As  their  villanous  designs  on  us  have  so  far  been  do 
feated  through  the  very  monstrosities  they  planned  against 
us,  so  may  we,  with  God's  aid,  yet  live  to  punish  the  vile 
authors  with  their  own  weapons." 

We  did  not  explore  the  cavern  ;  for  now  we  felt  there 
Was  more  important  work  before  us  ;  and  seeking  the  light 
of  day,  we  extinguished  our  torch,  descended  the  rocks 
and  the  ravine  in  safety,  and  then  set  off  on  the  trail  of 


THE   RANCHO.  271 


our  foes;  our  hearts  filled  with  prayers  of  thanksgiving  for 
our  unexpected  union,  and  our  wonderful  deliverance  from 
the  awful  evils  which  had  threatened  us  with  death  in  its 
most  terrible  form. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  RANCHO. 

I 


It  is  needless  for  me  to  detail  our  progress  day  by  day 
jn  pursuit  of  the  freebooters.  We  kept  to  our  original 
^Icsign  of  encamping  each  night  where  they  had  encamped 
the  night  previous ;  and  we  had  withal  to  be  very  cautious, 
lest  we  might  be  discovered  by  scouts  of  the  main  body,  or 
surprised  by  roving  bands  of  Camanches,  over  the  eastern 
portion  of  whose  territory  our  route  lay  for  several  days 
together.  The  trail  of  the  bandits  crossed  the  Colorado 
Hills  and  the  Colorado  River,  above  Austin,  the  capital  of 
Texas,  and  thence  took  a  southerly  course,  avoiding  all 
settlements,  and  much  of  the  way,  as  before  remarked, 
passing  over  the  wilderness  known  as  the  Camanche- 
Range. 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  that  we  were  not  obliged  to  ford 
or  swim  some  stream ;  and  often  we  met  with  delays  that 
taxed  our  utmost  exertions  to  repair.  As  we  drew  near 
the  frontier  of  Mexico,  these  delays  became  more  frequent, 
owing  to  the  country  being  infested  with  small  parties  of 
Indians  and  Guerillas,* who  roved  about  in  quest  of 
stragglers,  or  small  parties,  whom  they  might  attack  and 
plunder  with  impunity,  being  too  cowardly  to  risk  an  aifray 
with  any  body  of  men  of  any  thing  like  equal  numbers. 

Consequently,  while  our  foes  could  proceed  without  any 


272  CLARA  MORELAND. 


risk,  we  were  often  obliged  to  conceal  ourselves  in  thickets, 
or  climb  trees,  and  there  wait  with  what  patience  we  could 
till  we  could  see  our  route  clear  of  these  petty  plunderers. 
Most  of  our  nights  now  we  also  passed  in  the  branches  of 
trees ;  for  we  no  longer  considered  it  safe  to  lie  by  a  fire, 
even  with  one  of  us  on  the  watch,  as  we  had  previously 
done. 

At  last,  after  a  toilsome  and  perilous  march  of  many 
days,  during  which  we  lived  mostly  on  fresh  meat,  with 
occasionally  some  fruit  and  berries,  sleeping  on  the  ground 
in  the  open  air,  or  in  the  tops  of  trees,  we  arrived  one  eve, 
just  as  the  sun  was  sinking  gloriously  in  the  West,  in 
sight  of  a  Mexican  rancho. 

As  the  trail  we  had  followed  led  directly  thither,  and  as 
we  perceived  a  couple  of  sentinels  slowly  walking  up  and 
down  the  flat  roof  of  the  main  building,  within  the  walls, 
we  naturally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  our  friends  and 
enemies  were  quartered  inside.  Our  position,  when  we 
made  this  discovery,  was  on  rising  ground,  in  the  edge 
of  a  wood ;  and  the  rancho  was  nearly  half  a  mile  distant, 
in  the  centre  of  a  cultivated  clearing ;  consequently, 
though  we  could  see  what  was  taking  place  there,  we  ran 
little  or  no  risk  of  being  seen  ourselves. 

"  The  villains  are  yonder,  without  doubt,"  said  Harley, 
drawing  a  long  breath,  and  keeping  his  eye  steadily  fixed 
upon  the  rancho. 

"At  last,  then,  we  have  tracked  them  to  a  burrow," 
sighed  I,  thinking  of  Clara. 

"It  is  time,"  rejoined  Walter;  "for  another  such  a 
tramp  would  leave  us  naked." 

In  truth  we  were  in  a  sad  plight — our  clothes  dirty  and 
ragged,  having  been  nearly  torn  from  us  by  the  thorns  of 
the  chapparal  through  which  we  had  passed — our  beards 
long — our  feet  bare,   swollen  and  sore — and  our  hand?. 


THE   RANCnO.  273 


arms,  face,  neck,  body  and  legs,  scarcely  without  a  scratch 
for  the  size  of  our  palms. 

"And  what  is  to  be  done  now?"  was  the  next  question 
asked;  which  led  to  a  consultation,  and  finally  to  the 
decision,  that  we  should  remain  where  we  were  till  after 
nightfall,  and  then  set  forward  and  carefully  reconnoitre 
the  rancho,  and  endeavor  to  ascertain  for  a  certainty 
whether  it  contained  the  persons  we  were  seeking  or  not. 

Accordingly,  we  seated  ourselves  on  the  borders  of  the 
wood  and  clearing,  and  proceeded  to  make  our  evening 
meal  on  some  meat  which  we  had  roasted  the  day  previous, 
and  since  carried  with  us,  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  kindling 
a  fire  in  any  place  where  the  safety  of  such  a  proceeding 
should  be  considered  doubtful. 

The  sun  went  down  in  a  bright  bed  of  golden  yellow, 
and  the  whole  scene  before  us  gradually  faded  away,  and 
became  lost  in  darkness.  For  an  hour  longer  we  sat 
conversing  in  low  tones,  the  subject  of  course  being  that 
which  lay  nearest  our  hearts. 

"And  should  this  prove  to  be  D'Estang's  band  of 
ruffians,  what  are  we  to  do  ?"  inquired  Walter,  anxiously. 

"  Let  us  ascertain  that  first,"  answered  Harley,  "  and 
then  meet  here  to  consult  on  future  operations.  Provi- 
dence has  wonderfully  aided  us  so  far — let  us  not  prove 
unworthy  by  failing  to  trust  something  to  Providence 
now." 

"  I  would  I  knew  in  what  part  of  the  country  we  are  ?" 
said  I. 

"  That  we  may  not  know  till  some  one  tells  us,"  re- 
joined Harley.  "  Come  !  I  think  we  can  venture  forward 
now  in  safety.  If  by  anj-  chance  we  become  separated, 
remember  this  spot  must  be  our  rendezvous.     Hark  !" 

As  the  last  word  was  uttered,  a  strain  of  lively  musio 
came  floating  up  to  us  on  the  still  air  from  the  rancho. 

"  That  sounds  of  merry-making,"  said  I. 
18 


274  CLARA  MOREL  AND. 

"  A  fandango,"  returned  Walter. 

"  Fato  favors  us,'-  observed  Harley :  "  and  so,  while  the 
dance  is  going  on,  let  so  forward  and  reconnoitre." 

We  set  off  accordingly ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  approached  the  rancho  with  great  caution.  The 
music  was  still  in  full  blast,  the  air  quick  and  inspiring,  and 
we  could  hear  the  feet  of  the  dancers  keeping  excellent 
time ;  while  the  constant  hum  of  voices,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  soft,  melodious  laugh,  which  also  greeted  our 
ears,  told  us  that  many  were  here  collected  of  both  sexes. 

But  though  we  could  distinctly  hear,  we  could  not  see  a 
living  soul ;  for  the  rancho  was  surrounded  by  an  adobo 
wall,  some  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  high.  We  crept  up  to  the 
wall  in  the  most  stealthy  manner,  and  cautiously  made  its 
entire  circuit,  without  finding  a  cranny  through  which  we 
could  get  a  single  glimpse  of  the  dancers.  We  could  hear 
the  voices  of  many  speaking  together,  which  prevented  our 
distinguishing  any  thing  that  was  said ;  though  we  could 
make  out  that  there  were  two  distinct  parties — one  of  whom 
spoke  English  and  the  other  Spanish — and  that  each,  in 
trying  to  pay  the  other  a  compliment,  by  addressing  him 
in  language  not  his  own,  unitedly  produced  a  jargoii  worthy 
of  Babel. 

Having  listened  as  long  as  we  thought  necessary  or 
prudent,  we  silently  withdrew  to  a  safe  distance,  in 
order  to  hold  a  consultation,  and  decide  on  what  should  be 
our  next  proceedings. 

*'  Well,"  said  Ilarley,  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  have  no  doubt 
that  D'Estang  and  his  men,  or  at  least  a  portion  of  them, 
are  in  yonder  rancho ;  and  that  they  are  there  united  for 
the  present,  if  not  permanentlj^  with  another  band  of  cut- 
throats of  Mexican  origin." 

"  This  being  granted,"  said  Walter,  "  what  can  we  do 
to  effect  the  liberation  of  my  father  and  sister  ?" 


THE    RANCHO.  275 


"  Nothing,  of  ourselves,  alone,  while  they  remain  in  such 
force,'*  replied  Harlej. 

"  Which  seems  equivalent  to  saying  that  we  have  jour- 
neyed hither  in  vain,"  said  I,  dejectedly. 

"  Well,  that  may  or  may  not  be  ;  but  I  think  the  latter," 
rejoined  my  friend. 

"Have  you  any  thing  to  propose?"  asked  Walter, 
anxiously. 

"Yes,  I  have  two  propositions  to  lay  before  you." 

"  Go  on." 

"  The  first  is,  that  we  take  up  our  quarters  in  the  neigh- 
boring wood,  and  there  remain  on  the  watch.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  this  ranchc  may  for  the  present  be  used  as  a  ren- 
dezvous, and  that  the  captives  will  be  left  here  under  a 
small  guard,  while  the  main  body  sallies  forth  on  a  short 
expedition  for  plunder.  At  all  events,  such  a  large  body 
of  armed  men  will  not  long  remain  idle;  and' whether  they 
leave  their  prisoners  or  take  them  with  them,  by  remaining 
where  we  can  watch  their  movements,  we  shall  be  likely  to 
come  at  the  truth  one  way  or  the  other.  Now  if  the 
prisoners  are  left  behind  under  a  small  guard,  it  is  possible, 
by  watching,  we  may  find  a  favorable  opportunity  to  rush 
upon  them,  and  by  taking  them  by  surprise,  overpower 
them  ;  and  if  the  prisoners  are  not  left  behind,  then  we 
shall  be  ready  to  follow  the  whole  party  as  we  have  done 
heretofore,  and  determine  our  future  actions  by  future  cir- 
cumstances.    This  is  my  first  proposition." 

"  And  a  more  hopeful  one  than  I  had  thought  could  be 
made,"  replied  Walter. 

"  Now  for  the  second  proposition,  *  said  I. 

"  The  second  is,"  pursued  Harley,  "  that  we  at  once  set 
off  and  seek  for  a  force  equal  to  their  own,  and  with  this 
force  come  upon  them  suddenly  and  give  them  battle." 

"  But  where  can  we  find  such  a  force  to  aid  us  ?"  in- 
quired  I,  in   surprise  and  some  dismay,   lest  the  reply 


276  CLARA   MORELAND. 

Bhould  prove  that  tlie  mind  of  my  friend  was  again  -wan- 
dering. 

"Why,"  answered  Harley,  "  I  think  such  force  might 
be  found  in  Taylor's  army.'* 

"  Taylor's  army  ?"  echoed •  both  Walter  and  myself  in 
the  same  breath.  "  And  where,  my  dear  Morton,"  con- 
tinued I,  fears  for  my  friend's  sanity  rather  increased 
than  diminished  by  this  reply — "where  do  you  suppose 
Taylor's  army  to  be  at  this  moment,  that  you  refer  to  it 
with  such  an  air  of  confidence  ?" 

"  Much  less  distant  than  you  think,  judging  by  the  tone 
of  surprise  in  which  you  ask  the  question." 

"  Certainly  much  less  distant  than  I  think,  Morton,  if 
any  where  within  a  reasonable  journey,"  said  I. 

"  Well,  within  a  reasonable  journey  I  am  ready  to  wager 
it  is,"  he  rejoined,  in  the  same  confident  tone.  ;, 

"And  what  reasons  have  you  for  so  thinking?'*  in- 
quired Walter. 

"Many,  sir,"  replied  Harley,  "which  I  was  not  pre- 
pared to  give  a  half  hour  since,  when  Harry  here  was 
wishing  he  knew  in  what  part  of  the  country  we  are.  I 
have  since  been  pondering  upon  the  matter,  and  have  at 
length  arrived  at  a  conclusion  which  I  might  have  come  at 
sooner,  had  I  sooner  taken  the  subject  into  serious  con- 
sideration.    To  begin  then  with  my  reasons : 

"  In  the  first  place,  about  a  year  ago,  I  had  occasion  to 
study  a  map  of  Texas  ;  which  I  did  so  thoroughly  and  re- 
tentively,  as  to  fix  in  my  mind  the  locality  of  the  principal 
towns  and  rivers,  and  also  the  distance  from  one  to  the 
other.  Now  remembering  the  course  we  took  from  Hous- 
ton, the  number  of  days  we  were  on  the  journey,  together 
with  the  probable  distance  of  each  day's  travel,  and  I 
am  thus  enabled  to  form  a  pretty  correct  idea  of  the  part 
of  the  country  in  which  the  Indian  village  was  situated ; 
and  by  making  the  same  calculation  of  our  journey  since 


THE   RANCHO.  277 


quitting  it,  I  think  I  can  guess  pretty  accurately  of  our 
present  whereabouts." 

"  And  pray  then  where  are  we  ?"  inquired  I,  eagerly ; 
for  though  I  have  since  traced  our  route  on  the  map,  I  had 
at  this  time  no  definite  idea  of  the  part  of  the  country  we 
were  in  ;  and  the  information  I  have  occasionally  given 
the  reader,  of  different  localities,  in  the  course  of  our  jour- 
ncyings,  was  found  out  afterward. 

"  Well,  then,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,"  replied  Harley, 
"  we  are  in  the  province  of  San  Patricio,  and  not  many 
leagues  from  where  the  Rio  Grande  empties  into  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  ;  and  consequently,  if  Taylor  has  pushed  his  army 
forward  to  Point  Isabel,  as  by  the  last  rumor  that  reached 
me  he  was  about  to  do,  and  has  not  since  changed  his 
quarters,  we  are  not  many  leagues  distant  from  him." 
•  "  By  heavens !"  exclaimed  Walter,  in  a  very  excited 
tone,  though  he  prudently  spoke  low ;  "  if  your  conjec- 
tures prove  correct,  Mr.  Ilarley,  these  villains  will  do 
well  to  escape  the  punishment  they  deserve  ;  for  I  will  at 
once  to  Taylor's  camp  ;  and  if  I  can  fall  in  with  Walker 
and  his  Texas  Rangers,  it  will  only  be  necessary  to  mention 
to  him  the  name  and  captivity  of  my  father,  to  enlist  him 
at  once  in  our  behalf." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speak  so  confidently  of  ob- 
taining assistance,"  rejoined  Harley;  "  and  to  prove  my 
surmises  correct,  I  will  advance  these  arguments.  First, 
on  our  way  hither,  we  have  recently  seen,  much  to  our 
annoyance  and  alarm,  several  small  parties  prowling  about, 
evidently  in  quest  of  plunder.  These,  doubtless,  are  the 
human  wolves  or  vultures,  which  hang  upon  the  outskirts 
of  the  army,  ready,  whenever  a  battle  is  fought,  to  come 
in  for  the  best  share  of  the  plunder,  but  too  cowardly  to 
take  it  from  an  equal  or  unconquered  foe." 

"Nothing  more  likely,"  said  Walter. 

24 


278  CLARA    MOREL  AND, 

"Secondly,"  pursued  Harlej,  "you  will  recollect  that 
I  told  you,  from  the  conversation  overheard  between 
D'Estang  and  Warncliff,  that  I  judged  their  intended 
destination  to  be  the  frontier  of  Mexico :  now  would  they 
be  likely  to  stop  short  of  their  destination — at  least  any 
considerable  distance  —  and  idle  away  their  time  in 
revelry?" 

"  Ha  !  that  is  true,"  exclaimed  Walter. 

"Thirdly,"  continued  my  friend,  "we  know  that  there 
are  many  females  in  yonder  rancho,  and  that  it  is  not 
reasonable  to  suppose  they  belong  there;  and  if  th-py 
do  not  belong  there,  whence  come  they,  unless  from  some 
near  town?  for  neighbors  here  are  scarce;  and  if  from 
some  near  town,  that  town  must  be  on  the  Rio  Grande,  for 
there  can  be  no  other  in  this  vicinity." 

"I  am  convinced,"  rejoined  Walter,  "that  your  conjec- 
tures are  well  founded.  Now  then  to  act  accordingly. 
In  the  first  place,  you  being  right  in  your  surmises,  there 
must  be  a  road,  or  at  least  a  mule-path,  leading  from  this 
rancho  to  the  town  in  question ;  and  therefore  let  it  be  our 
first  care  to  find  this  and  follow  it,  till  we  chance  upon 
some  one  from  whom  we  can  gather  correct  information, 
both  as  to  the  name  of  the  town,  and  the  exact  position 
of,  and  distance  to,  the  American  army." 

"I  see  nothing  to  object  to  this,"  replied  Harley. 

"With  all  due  respect  for  your  surmises  and  plans," 
said  I,  "I  think  there  is  one  important  conjecture  that 
should  be  made  a  certainty  before  we  act  as  if  it  were  so — 
for  this  is  truly  the  keystone  to  the  whole  arch  of  your 
calculations." 

"  Ha  !  well,  what  is  it,  Harry?"  said  Harley. 

"  Why,  you  have  taken  it  for  granted  that  the  banditti 
we  seek,  and  their  captives,  are  within  yonder  rancho 
Now  if  this  should  prove  to  be  another  party — " 

"Ha!  by  my  life!"  interrupted  Harley — "I  see!  we 


THE    RANCHa  279 


have  taken  too  much  for  granted.  We  must  he  certain 
this  is  D'Estang's  hand,  Walter,  ere  we  make  an  effort 
against  them— otherwise  we  may  let  the  real  villains  and 
our  friends  escape  us." 

"  True  !  true  !*'  answered  Walter ;  "  but  how  are  we  to 
ascertain  this  fact  in  time  to  be  of  any  benefit  to  us  ?" 

"I  have  a  plan,''  said  I.  "  In  passing  around  the  walls 
of  the  rancho,  I  observed  a  stick  of  timber  leaning  against 
one,  by  which  I  think  I  could  mount  to  the  top  and  get  a 
view  of  what  is  taking  place  inside." 

"  But  this  would  put  your  life  in  peril,"  said  Harley, 
anxiously. 

"  It  has  been  in  peril  a  long  time,  my  friend,"  I  replied  ; 
"  and  we  cannot  hope  to  defeat  our  foes  and  regain  our 
friends  without  new  risks." 

After  some  further  discussion,  it  was  settled  that  I 
should  immediately  proceed  to  put  my  plan  in  execution — 
I  promising  on  my  part  to  be  very  prudent  and  cautious, 
and  exacting  from  my  friends^  their  solemn  pledge  in 
return,  that  in  case  I  should  by  any  accident  again  fall 
into  the  hands  of  my  enemies,  they  would  not  attempt  a 
rescue  without  sufficient  force;  but  instantly  depart  and 
seek  succor,  without  approaching  any  nearer  to  the  rancho, 
that  it  might  not  be  discovered  I  had  accomplices,  which 
would  certainly  put  the  villains  on  their  guard  against 
surprise,  and  perhaps  be  the  worse  for  me  in  other 
respects. 

I  now  shook  hands  with  Morton  and  Walter,  and  parted 
from  them  as  for  the  last  time ;  for  there  was  no  telling 
what  might  happen;  and  I  was  not  without  forebodings 
that  I  should  get  into  fresh  difficulty.  I  set  off,  however, 
with  a  tolerably  stout  heart;  and  in  a  few  minutes  had 
reached  the  rancho,  and  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  wall, 
without  meeting  with  any  accident. 

Here  I  found,  what  I  had  not  anticipated,  namely,  that 


280  CLARA  MORELAND. 

from  this  wall  I  could  get  no  view  of  the  parties  within — 
for  the  main  building  of  the  rancho  here  formed  an  inner 
wall,  about  six  feet  distant  from  the  other,  and  the  dance 
was  apparently  taking  place  on  the  other  side  of  this,  in  an 
uncovered  area.  And  besides,  I  could  not  pass  from  the 
wall  I  was  on  to  another,  because  the  corners  were  flanked 
with  circular  bastions.  I  could  see  the  gleam  of  the  lights, 
though  not  the  lights  themselves,  and 'hear  the  music,  the 
tread  of  feet,  and  a  loud  buzz  of  conversation ;  and  having 
ventured  thus  far,  I  determined,  imprudently  enough,  to 
venture  still  further. 

With  this  intent,  I  soon  discovered  that  one  corner  of 
the  building  projected  within  three  feet  of  me ;  and  stand- 
ing up,  and  leaning  over,  I  managed  to  reach  this  with  my 
hands;  and  after  a  severe  effort,  during  which  I  came 
near  being  precipitated  to  the  ground  below,  I  succeeded 
in  clambering  upon  it.  Moving  carefully  over  the  flat 
roof  to  the  opposite  side,  I  now  had  a  fair  view  of  what  I 
had  sought. 

The  area,  formed  by  the  surrounding  buildings,  was 
large;  and  in  this,  standing  in  a  circle,  were  perhaps  a 
hundred  persons  of  both  sexes,  watching  the  motions  of 
some  ten  or  twelve  others  who  were  dancing  in  the  centre. 
Torches  and  lamps  were  plenty ;  and  in  the  bright  light 
thus  made,  I  recognized  several  of  the  villainous  faces  of 
Warncliff''s  detachment — but  could  no  where  see  him  or 
D'Estang.  The  females,  of  whom  there  appeared  to  be 
about  twenty  in  all,  were  mostly  young,  were  dressed  in 
white,  and  many  of  them  were  extremely  good-looking. 
Their  dark  skins,  black  eyes,  and  raven  tresses  proclaimed 
them  of  Mexican  or  Spanish  origin;  and  the  beautiful 
forms  of  those  in  the  dance,  certainly  moved  with  a  grace 
and  ease  that  would  not  have  disgraced  a  fashionable  ball- 
room of  my  own  country. 

While  I  was  yet  looking,  the  music  ceased,  and  the  set 


FROM   IMPENDING  DEATH   TO  A  DUNGEON.      28i 

broke  up ;  and  while  another  was  forming,  I  prudently 
thought  of  withdrawing ;  but  just  at  this  instant  I  became 
spell-bound  by  the  sound  of  'Warncliff's  voice. 

"Come  along!"  he  said,  gruffly;  "you  must  dance 
-with  me,  and  there  is  no  use  of  whining  about  it !  I  am 
master  here,  and  will  be  obeyed." 

There  was  a  low,  tremulous  reply — the  words  I  did  not 
hear — but  the  tones  seemed  to  thrill  through  every  nerve 
and  fibre  of  my  body.  I  could  not  mistake  that  voice 
among  a  thousand — it  came  from  the  lips  of  Clara  More- 
land.  The  speakers  seemed  to  be  under  me — but  yet  I 
could  not  see  them.  In  my  excited  state  of  mind,  I 
impatiently,  imprudently,  raised  myself  and  leaned  for- 
ward. But  alas !  in  doing  so,  I  lost  my  balance ;  and 
finding  I  must  go  down,  I  made  a  spring,  and  landed  in 
the  very  midst  of  the  freebooters  and  their  associates. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FROM   IMPENDING  DEATH   TO   A   DUNGEON.  I 

Had  an  angel  suddenly  descended  from  Heaven  into  the 
midst  of  that  circle,  I  doubt  that  those  who  recognized  me 
would  have  been  more  astonished. 

"  A  ghost !  a  ghost !"  they  shouted,  with  blanched  faces, 
while  the  females  drew  back  with  shrieks  of  alarm. 

A  scene  of  general  confusion  ensued — every  one  seeming 
surprised,  if  not  terrified — during  which  I  could  distinguish 
the  cries  of: 

"  The  rancho  is  attacked  !" 

"  Seize  the  scoundrel !" 

24* 


282  CLARA   MORELAND. 

"  Shoot  him  down  !" 

"  No  !  no  !  don't  fire  ! — it's  a  ghost ! — it's  the  man  that 
"was  hung !" 

I  had  alighted  on  my  feet;  and  though  considerably 
jarred,  was  not  injured ;  and  with  perfect  presence  of 
mind  I  drew  my  pistols,  and  looked  eagerly  around,  in  the 
hope  that  I  might,  by  taking  advantage  of  the  alarm  and 
confusion,  in  some  miraculous  manner  effect  my  escape. 
Through  what  appeared  to  be  the  main  dwelling,  lay  my 
way  to  one  of  the  gates ;  and  thinking  it  possible  it  might 
not  be  barred,  I  darted  forward  in  that  direction,  shouting 
to  those  before  me  to  stand  aside  or  take  the  consequences. 
Instinctively  they  gave  way ;  and  I  had  already  broken 
through  the  circle,  and  entered  the  dwelling,  when  I  heard 
a  rush  behind  me,  and  the  cries  of: 

"  Take  him !  take  him  ! — don't  let  him  escape  ! — he's 
alive  enough — he's  no  ghost,"  &c.  &c. 

Too  soon  for  me  the  different  parties  had  recovered  from 
the  inaction  of  a  first  surprise ;  and  the  consequence  was, 
that  I  was  seized  by  some  two  or  three  stalwart  fellows, 
who  instantly  bore  me  to  the  ground  and  disarmed  me. 

"  Don't  kill  him  !  Bring  him  out  alive  !  We  want  to 
see  him !"  cried  the  excited  crowd,  who  could  not  press 
into  the  house;  and  immediately  I  was  lifted  and  borne 
out  into  the  area,  where  I  had  so  unceremoniously  made 
my  first  appearance. 

Here  I  was  cast  upon  the  ground ;  and  for  a  few  min- 
utes was  in  danger  of  being  crushed  under  the  feet  of  the 
surging  mass,  each  of  whom  was  struggling  with  his  neigh- 
bor to  get  a  sight  of  me. 

"Fallback!  fall  back,  men !"  now  cried  a  loud  voice, 
which  I  instantly  recognized  as  Warncliff 's  ;  and  immedi- 
ately a  circle  was  cleared  around  me,  and  my  hated  rival 
advanced  to  my  side. 

My  face  was  turned  from  him ;  and  he  evidently  had 


FROM   IMPENDING   DEATH    TO   A   DUNGEON.       283 

not  heard  my  name  mentioned,  nor  had  the  remotest  idea 
that  the  being  he  had  consigned  to  an  awful  death  was 
living  and  in  his  presence ;  for  he  addressed  me  sternly. 

"  Who  are  you,  fellow,"  he  said,  "that  have  rained  dowD 
here  to  cause  this  disturbance  ?" 

'  I  quickly  gathered  myself  upon  my  feet,  and  silently 
confronted  him.  The  moment  his  eye  fell  upon  mine,  he 
staggered  back,  with  a  yell  of  horror — the  blood  forsook 
his  face — even  his  lips  grew  white — and  I  believe  he  would 
have  fallen,  had  not  one  of  his  men  behind  given  him  sup- 
port. It  was  some  moments  before  he  sufficiently  reco- 
vered himself  to  again  address  me;  and  even  then  he  rather 
gasped  than  said : 

"  Henry  Walton  !  are  you  alive  or  dead  ?" 

"Villain!  coward!"  cried  I:  "does  your  guilty  con- 
science rather  make  you  fear  the  dead  than  the  living  ?" 

The  sound  of  my  voice  seemed  to  reassure  him ;  and  as 
the  blood  rushed  back  into  his  face,  he  exclaimed,  angrily, 
perhaps  to  cover  the  shame  and  confusion  he  felt  for  his 
recent  display  of  terror : 

"  So,  then,  you  are  alive ;  and  I  have  been  tricked,  de- 
ceived. Where  are  the  traitors  ?  By  heavens  !  I  have  a 
mind  to  make  hanging  examples  of  them  !" 

"You  have  no  reason  to  find  fault  with  your  tools,"  said 
I ; .  "  for  they  are  after  your  own  heart  in  villainy,  and  did 
their  hellish  work  as  well  as  you  could  have  done  it  your- 
self." 

"  'Tis  false  !  else  how  are  you  here  alive  ?" 

"  There  is  a  Power  above  yours,"  rejoiced  I,  solemnly, 
pointing  upward.  Warncliff,  and  those  who  surrounded 
him,  involuntarily,  as  it  were,  looked  heavenward,  as  if 
expecting  to  behold  the  Power  of  which  I  spoke.  "  You 
cannot  see  it  now,''  continued  I;  "  but  it  is  there,  never- 
theless ;  and  ere  long  you  will  feel  it  in  terrors  more 
dreadful  than  those  you  but  now  experienced." 


284:  CLARA  MOREL  AND 


Ir 


"  Pshaw  I"  exclaimed  Warncllff,  impatiently ;  "  are  you 
mad  ?  or  a  fool  ?  or  have  you  turned  priest,  and  come  here 
to  preach  ?  But  no  matter  ;  if  my  orders  had  been  exe- 
cuted, you  could  not  be  here  now;  and  therefore  I  say,  I 
have  been  deceived  by  a  couple  of  treacherous  scoundrels." 

"  If  you  mean  me  b}^  that  thar  remark,  I  say  you  lie  !" 
-  cried  a  voice  behind  me  ;  and  the  next  moment  Warncllff 
was  confronted  with  the^ery  ruffian  who  had  placed  the 
rope  around  my  neck  and  led  the  horse  from  under  me. 

"  This  to  me,  fellow  ?"  shouted  Warncllff,  half  choking 
with  rage,  and  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  bosom  as  if  in 
search  of  a  weapon. 

"  Take  care!"  thundered  the  other,  instantly  presenting 
a  pistol  to  the  head  of  Warncllff;  "  if  you  dare  to  lay  your 
hand  on  steel,  I'll  blow  your  brains  out !" 

"  Mutiny  !  mutiny !"  cried  several  voices. 

"  No  mutiny  about  it,"  roared  the  big  ruffian ;  "  and  if 
there  was,  I  don't  care  a !  He's  called  me  a  trea- 
cherous scoundrel ;  and  he's  got  to  eat  his  words,  or  die, 
by- !" 

"Well,  well,  perhaps  I  was  hasty,"  returned  Warncllff, 
in  an  altered  tone,  who  felt  that  he  was  in  the  ruffian's 
power,  and  judged  it  politic  to  speak  him  fair.  "  I  was 
angry  at  the  thought  that  this  man,  whom  I  hate,  had 
escaped  the  death  to  which '  I  doomed  him  ;  and  in  the 
heat  of  the  moment,  I  made  use  of  words  whose  meaning  I 
did  not  consider,  nor  on  whom  they  would  reflect.  Kow 
tell  me,  Jack — if  you  saw  him  executed,  as  you  reported — 
how  is  it  I  see  him  here,  alive?" 

"  Don't  know,  unless  Old  Nick  cut  him  down,"  replied 
the  othfir,  gruffly,  "if  I  seen  him  executed,- indeed  !  I 
tell  you,  sir,  these  here  hands  put  the  rope  round  his  neck, 
anfl  these  here  eyes  seen  him  hung,  swinging  in  the  air, 
•  as  purty  a  piece  of  human  flesh  as  ever  a  turkey-buzzard 
could  wish  to  light  on." 


FROM  IMPEXDIXG  DEATH   TO   A  DUXGEON.       285 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  coarse  speech,  in  which 
Warn  cliff  affected  to  join. 

"  There,  Jack,*'  he  said,  "  I  believe  you  did  your  duty 
faithfully ;  and  Old  Nick,  as  you  say,  must  have  had  a 
hand  in  his  escape,  surely.  And  now,  sirrah !  (turning  to 
me)  tell  me  how  it^s  I  find  you  here,  which  is  scarcely  less 
marvellous  than  that  you  should  have  avoided  the  death  to 
^which  I  doomed  you  ?  How  oajlne  you  here  ?  how  have 
you  traced  us  for  hundreds  of  miles?  and  what  strange 
fancy  could  have  induced  you  to  voluntarily  put  yourself 
in  my  power  again  ?  Is  it  possible  you  have  such  a  liking 
for  hanging,  that  you  wish  to  try  it  again?'* 

"  And  who  says  I  am  in  your  power  ?"  replied  I, 
affecting  a  coolness  and  confidence  I  did  not  feel.  "  Are 
you  sure  I  am  in  your  power  again  ?" 

"Ha!  what  mean  these  words?"  he  cried,  in  a  tono 
which  betrayed  some  anxiety,  if- not  alarm.  "Are  you 
not  alone  ?  are  you  supported  by  others  ?" 

"And  have  you  so  underrated  me,  as  to  think  me  foolish 
enough  to  come  here  alone,  and  quietly  surrender  myself 
to  you?"  I  continued,  perceiving  that  I  had  happily  roused 
an  apprehension  in  his  mind,  which  if  I  could  increase,  by 
•throwing  out  vague,  mysterious  hints,  in  the  same  tone  of 
confidence,  might  be  of  incalculable  benefit  to  myself. 

"  By  heavens  !"  he  cried :  "perhaps  we  are  surrounded 
by  an  armed  body  !  This  comes  of  not  keeping  the  senti- 
nels to  their  duty.  It  is  all  my  fault,  I  must  acknowledge ; 
and  if  any  harm  befall  us,  in  consequence,  I  shall  dread  to 
meet  the  eye  of  our  Captain  whon  he  returns." 

Here  was  an  unguarded  admission  that  his  Captain, 
Count  D'Estang,  was  away ;  and  I  instantly  seized  upon 
the  fact,  and  turned  it  to  my  advantage. 

"  You  need  not  dread  your  Captain's  return  while  I  am 
held  a  prisoner,"  said  I. 

"  What !  is  our  Captain  taken  ?"  cried  fifty  voices ;  and 


286  CLARA  MORELAND. 

I  could  see  that  the  hare  idea  excited  no  little  constert  a- 
tion. 

"Then  shoot  the  scoundrel  that  ventures  here  to  tell  us 
so !"  exclaimed  others. 

"  Hold !"   said   I.     "  Suppose   the   life   of  your   chief 
depends  on  the  manner  in  which  I  am  treated  ?" 

"It's  all  a  lie!"  put  in  Jack,  who,  keeping  bia 

place  by  my  side,  had  been  closely  watching  my  counte- 
nance for  some  time.  "  You're  a  skeery  set,  the  whole  of 
ye,"  he  continued  ;  "  or  you'd  see  right  through  a  yarn  as 
loosely  spun  as  this  here  chap's.  Haint  we  been  travelling 
right  fast  ever  since  he  was  hung?  and  how  could  he  travel 
as  fast  afoot,  track  us  here,  and  have  a  body  of  men  at  his 
heels?  And  besides,  whar  could  he  find  the  men  you  fear? 
And  if  he  wanted  to  hold  parley  with  us,  d'ye  think  he'd 
come  tumbling  over  the  roof,  instead  of  knocking  at  the 
gate  ?  Go  away — you're  green — you  ain't  seasoned  worth 
a !" 

"Eight,  Jack,  by !"  cried  WarnclifF,  clapping  him 

on  the  shoulder ;  "  you  have  more  sense  than  all  of  us  put 
together.  He  has.  been  lying — I  see  it  clear  enough  ;  for 
if  he  came  intentionally  among  us,  why  did  he  try  to  make 
his  escape  in  the  first  instance  ?  I  understand  it  all  now 
— thanks  to  you,  Jack.  He  escaped  fn)m  the  rope  by  one 
means  or  another,  and  has  been  dogging  our  steps  ever 
since;  and  having  traced  us  here,  he  has  watched  his 
opportunity,  climbed  the  walls,  and  mounted  the  roof, 
with  a  view  of  ascertaining  our  numbers,  intending  to  get 
off  unseen  and  go  in  quest  of  a  force  to  lead  against  us. 
He  is  a  spy  upon  us,  and  it  will  not  do  to  let^im  escape. 
I  leave  it  to  you,  however,  my  gallant  men,  to  say  what 
shall  be  done  with  him." 

"  Hang  him  again,  or  shoot  him,"  cried  fifty  voices ; 
"  that's  the  way  to  fix  spies."  \ 

"  Do  either  at  your  peril !"  said  I,  firmly  and  coolly, 


FROM   IMPENDING  DEATH   TO  A  DUNGEON.       287 

though  I  felt  my  heart  sinking  -within  me  at  the  same  time. 
"  I  tell  you  I  am  not  alone,"  I  continued,  "  as  you  may 
soon  find  to  your  cost.  You  seem  to  forget  that  "VYalter 
Moreland  escaped  from  your  treacherous  designs  as  well 
as  myself." 

"  And  he  cut  you  down  ?  Ha  !  I  see  it  all  now,"  re- 
turned Warncliff,  quickly. 

"And  if  he  did,"  said  I,  "is  he  your  prisoner  now? 
Ila !  you  see  also  there  is  one  determined  foe  who  is  not 
in  your  clutches ;  and  you  will  do  well  to  believe  he  is  not 
the  only  one :  I  tell  you  there  are  many  more." 

The  assurance  I  so  well  assumed,  seemed  to  stagger  the 
freebooters,  one  and  all.  They  knew  not  what  they  really 
had  to  fear,  and  consequently  feared  every  thing.  Had 
D'Estang  been  with  them,  the  case  would  have  been  differ- 
ent ;  but  he  was  away,  and  possibly  might  be  a  prisoner, 
as  I  had  hinted ;  and  in  this  uncertainty  they  were  afraid 
to  proceed  to  extremes  with  me,  lest  a  similar  punishment 
should  be  visited  upon  him. 

"  To  the  walls,  men,  some  of  you,  with  torches,  and 
carefully  reconnoitre  the  ground  below  ;  while  the  rest  of 
you  prepare  to  make  a  sortie  with  me !"  said  Warncliff". 
"  We  will  soon  know  if  we  have  any  thing  to  fear ;  and  if 
we  have,  what  we  have  to  fear." 

"  You  may  save  yourselves  the  trouble  of  mounting  tho 
walls,"  said  I ;  "  for  I  assure  you  there  is  no  foe  beneatt 
them.  As  to  making  a  sortie,  you  can  do  as  you  like ;  but 
my  advice  to  you  is,  not  to  go  too  far  from  your  strong- 
hold." 

"  Thank  you  !"  returned  Warncliff";  "  we  will  believe 
just  so  much  of  your  story,  and  take  just  so  much  of  your 
advice,  as  we  think  proper." 

He  then  held  a  short  consultation,  in  a  low  tone,  with 
some  half  a  dozen  of  his  cut-throat  gang ;  after  which,  he 
advanced  to  me  and  said : 


288  CLAKA  MORELAND. 


"  Hark  you,  sir  !  I  do  not  know  whether  you  have  lied 
to  us  or  not;  but  we  shall  probably  learn  the'" truth,  one 
way  or  other,  in  the  course  of  the  night;  and  if  you  have 
lied,  you  shall  not  outlive  the  rising  of  to-morrow's  sun. 
Away  with  him  to  the  dungeon !  and  if  he  escape  my  ven- 
geance this  time,  by  my  father's  soul !  I  swear  to  visit  the 
severest  penalty  upon  the  heads  of  you  who  have  him  in 
charge !" 

"I'll  answer  for  him  with  my  head  this  time,"  replied 
Jack ;  who,  with  another  ruffian,  immediately  laid  rough 
hands  upon  me,  and  led  me  away. 

They  conducted  me  into  an  old  building,  which  appeared 
to  be  used  as  a  granary ;  but  ere  I  entered  it,  I  saw  the 
females  grouped  together  in  another  building,  in  company 
with  some  twelve  or  fifteen  hang-dog  looking  fellows, 
whose  style  of  dress  and  swarthy  complexions  denoted 
them  to  be  Mexicans.  All  were  staring  at  me  with  vulgar 
curiosity,  and  no  doubt  wondering  among  themselves  what 
could  be  the  meaning  of  all  they  saw — for  they  evidently 
did  not  understand  sufficient  English  to  render  the  matter 
clear  to  them. 

I  scanned  the  group  eagerly,  and  ran  my  eye  rapidly 
around  the  buildings,  in  the  expectation  of  seeing  Clara. 
But  I  was  disappointed ;  for  she,  little  dreaming  who  was 
so  near  her,  had  probably  withdrawn  herself  to  an  inner 
apartment ;  or  else  did  not  feel  interest  enough  in  what 
was  going  on  to  even  bestow  a  look  upon  it ;  or,  peradven- 
ture,  and  this  idea  was  not  a  pleasant  one,  she  might  be  a 
close  prisoner,  whom  Warncliff,  ere  he  took  part  in  the 
scene  described,  might  have  hurried  back  to  her  place  of 
confinement.  But  where  was  her  father.  Colonel  More- 
land,  all  this  time  ?  Was  he  here,  a  close  prisoner  also  ? 
or  had  a  worse  fate  befallen  him  ?  I  was  strongly  tempted 
to  ask  my  ruffian-guard  some  questions  concerning  my 


FROM  IMPENDING  DEATH   TO  A  DUNGEON.      289 

friends  ;  but  believing  I  should  only  receive  abuse  m  re- 
turn, I  kept  my  lips  closed. 

On  entering  the  granary,  my  conductors  lifted  a  trap 
door,  and  gruffly  bade  me  descend.  I  did  so,  by  means  of 
a  ladder,  and  found  myself  in  a  damp  vault,  where  I  could 
Bee  nothing — for  the  light  from  the  torches  of  my  guard 
did  not  penetrate  the  pitchy  blackness  which  now  en- 
veloped me.  As  soon  as  I  was  fairly  down,  the  ladder  was 
drawn  up  and  the  trap  closed ;  and  thus  was  I  left  in  inky 
darkness,  to  solitary  reflection. 

And  it  will  readily  be  believed  that  my  reflections  were 
not  of  the  most  pleasant  character.  Here  was  I  again,  in 
the  hands  of  my  enemy — an  enemy  without  pity,  who 
thirsted  for  my  blood — and  unless  something  almost  mira- 
culous should  take  place  in  my  favor  in  the  course  of  the 
night,  I  did  not  doubt  that  the  rising  of  another  sun 
would  be  the  signal  for  my  death.  And  what  better  place 
to  put  this  fiendish  design  in  execution,  than  the  one  now 
assigned  me  ?  I  could  not  avoid  a  cold  shudder,  as  the 
horrible  idea  rose  in  my  mind  that  I  might  never  leave 
it  alive.  My  fate  would  at  least  be  known  to  my  friends, 
sooner  or  later ;  for  Morton  and  Walter  had  both  escaped, 
and  doubtless  were  even  now  gone  in  quest  of  assistance ; 
but  it  was  not  probable  that  assistance  would  arrive  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  even  if  procured  at  all ;  and  there- 
fore I  could  find  little  consolation  in  the  idea  that  my  re- 
mains might  be  discovered  and  given  Christian  burial.  I 
thcught  of  poor  Clara ;  and  I  censured  myself  for  my  im- 
prudence and  carelessness;  when,  by  a  different  course  of 
action,  I  might  have  withdrawn,  with  all  the  information  I 
had  sought,  without  having  discovered  myself  to  my  ene- 
mies, and  thus  put  them  on  their  guard  and  myself  in 
theftr  power.  Sweet  Clara  !  could  I  but  free  her  with  my 
life,  I  felt  I  would  not  hesitate  a  moment  at  the  sacrifice  ; 
19  25 


290  CLARA  MORELAND. 


but  to  lose  my  life  as  I  "was  now  situated,  and  thus  give 
my  inhuman  rival  a  double  triumph,  was  an  idea  so  terri- 
ble that  it  almost  drove  me  mad. 

Being  left  in  my  prison  unshackled,  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  endeavor  to  ascertain  its  dimensions ;  and  accord- 
ingly I  began  to  grope  about,  moving  very  slowly  and 
cautiously.  The  ground  under  me  was  cold  and  damp ; 
and  when  I  at  length  reached  one  of  the  walls,  I  found  it 
covered  with  a  thick  coating  of  slime,  that  made  me  in- 
voluntarily recoil  from  the  touch.  The  air,  too,  had  a 
foul,  sickly  smell,  such  as  one  is  likely  to  encounter  on 
entering  a  damp  charnel  house ;  and  I  soon  found  that 
these  disagreeable  vapors  so  clogged  my  lungs,  if  I  may 
be  permitted  the  expression,  that  my  respiration  was 
effected  with  some  difficulty ;  and  I  felt  a  heavy  pressure 
upon  my  chest,  similar  to  what  one  often  experiences  on 
retiring  to  bed  immediately  after  partaking  of  a  hearty 
supper. 

Having  reached  the  wall — for  my  descent  into  this 
loathsome  place  had  been  about  central  way — I  began  to 
make  the  circuit  of  my  dungeon,  keeping  the  slimy  boun- 
daries within  reaching  distance  as  a  guide  to  my  steps.  I 
had  proceeded  in  this  manner  some  fifteen  or  twenty  feet, 
and  was  slowly  groping  along  beside  the  second  wall,  when 
I  suddenly  stumbled  against  a  small  heap  of  bones,  which 
instantly  emitted  a  startling  phosphorescent  light,  and  at 
the  same  moment  a  dull,  heavy  groan  sounded  in  my  ear. 

I  never  was  much  given  to  a  belief  in  supernatural  ap- 
pearances and  manifestations ;  but  situated  as  I  was, 
laboring  under  intense  nervous  excitement,  the  reader  will 
hardly  doubt  my  word  when  I  say  that  I  involuntarily  ut- 
tered a  cry  of  horror,  and  reeled  against  the  wall ;  while 
my  blood  seemed  to  curdle  in  my  veins, 

"  And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end, 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine." 


FROM  IMPENDING  DEATH   TO  A  DUNGEON.      291 

Nor  was  mj  horror  abated,  when,  venturing  to  scan  the 
decaying  bones  by  their  own  ghastly  light,  I  perceived 
among  them  three  human  skulls,  whose  naked  teeth 
grinned  upon,  me  hideously,  and  whose  hollow  sockets 
seemed  to  have  eyes  of  fire.  I  closed  ray  own  eyes,  to 
shut  out  the  frightful  scene,  and  made  haste  to  withdraw 
from  a  contact  with  these  remnants  of  mortality. 

But  though  I  turned  toy  back  upon  them,  and  kept  my 
eyes  darkened,  I  seemed  to  see  them  as  distinctly  as  before  ; 
till  at  last,  made  desperate  by  the  horror  I  could  not  avoid, 
I  resolutely  faced  them,  half  expecting  to  see  them  assume 
some  other  horrible  form.  Spell-bound,  I  gazed  upon  the 
revolting  spectacle ;  while  the  awful  idea  took  possession 
of  my  half-maddened  brain,  that  foul  murder  had  been 
done  here — that  foul  murder  might  still  be  done  here — 
that  I  might  be  the  next  victim — and  that  ere  long  my 
own  bones  might  lie  with  these,  peradventure  to  give  out 
the  same  warning  deathlight  to  another  victim  coming 
after  me. 

Gradually  I  grew  composed,  so  far  as  dread  of  super- 
natural appearances  had  troubled  me;  and  in  order  to 
banish  all  fear  by  daring  the  worst,  I  walked  up  to  the  bones, 
and  seated  myself  upon  them.  I  had  not  been  in  this 
position  many  minutes,  when  I  heard  the  groan  repeated 
which  had  so  startled  me  at  first.  My  mind  being  now  in 
a  state  better  fitted  for  reasoning,  I  began  to  look  around 
me  for  a  natural,  rather  than  a  supernatural,  cause ;  and 
to  find  the  cause,  I  traversed  my  dungeon,  and  searched 
every  portion  of  it  by  the  dim,  phosphorescent  light.  I  now 
became  satisfied  that  no  human  being  save  myself  was 
here  confined ;  but  it  did  not  follow  to  my  mind  that  no 
human  being  was  confined  in  a  dungeon  contiguous  to 
mine ;  and  believing  such  to  be  the  case,  I  said,  in  a  loud 
tone : 


292  CLARA  MORELAND. 


"  If  you  who  groan  have  power  of  speech,  pray  answer 
me  !     Who  are  you  ?  and  where  are  you  ?" 

"And  who  are  you  that  asks?"  replied  a  voice  through 
one  of  the  walls. 

"A  victim  of  villainy,"  I  answered;  "imprisoned  in  a 
dungeon  that  I  may  never  leave." 

"  And  I  another,"  said  the  voice. 

"  Your  name  ?" 

"Moreland." 

"  Heavens  !"  exclaimed  I :  "  Colonel  Moreland  ?'' 

"The  same — do  you  know  me?  who  are  you?"  said 
the  voice  in  the  same  breath,  and  in  a  tone  that  denoted 
surprise. 

"  I  am  Henry  Walton,"  I  answered. 

"  It  cannot  be ;  you  are  deceiving  me ;  he  perished  by 
the  halter." 

"Hfe  was  executed,  but  did  not  perish,"  I  pursued, 
eagerly.  "  He  was  rescued  by  your  son,  to  whom  he  owes 
his  life." 

"  Walter !  my  son !  is  he  alive  ?  and  where  is  he  then  ?" 
cried  the  Colonel,  in  a  quick,  agitated  tone. 

I  hastened  to  the  spot  from  which  the  sound  of  the 
other's  voice  seemed  to  issue ;  and  putting  my  lips  near 
the  wall,  in  a  lower  tone,  lest  we  might  be  overheard, 
hurriedly  communicated  the  leading  events  connected  with 
myself  since  our  separation — mentioning  the  escape  of 
Harley,  how  we  had  followed  the  banditti,  and  what  had 
led  to  my  incarceration  in  my  present  gloomy  abode. 

"  Thank  God  !"  I  heard  him  exclaim :  "  Walter  is  alive, 
and  free,  and  vengeance  does  not  sleep.  I  can  bear  up 
now,  Mr.  Walton,"  he  continued — "for  you  have  given  me 
hope." 

"And  why  are  you,  like  myself,  immured  in  a  dun- 
geon?" I  inquired. 


FROM  IMPENDING  DEATH   TO  A  DUNGEON.      293 

"  Because  I  would  not  comply  with  the  wishes  of  that 
human  fiend,  Warncliff,  and  urge  my  daughter  to  sacrifice 
herself  to  save  me.  He  demands,  as  the  price  of  my 
liberation,  the  hand  of  my  daughter  in  lawful  marriage, 
and  an  amount  in  gold  that  would  beggar  me;  and  he 
frankly  gives  as  a  reason  for  seeking  this  honorable 
alliance  with  Clara,  when  she  is  already  in  his  power,  that 
I,  being  proud  of  my  family  and  connections,  would  not 
attempt  to  disgrace  the  husband  of  my  child,  to  whose 
marriage  I  had  consented,  for  the  paltry  consideration  of 
revenge ;  and  to  make  this  doubly  sure,  he  further 
demands  that  I  swear,  by  all  I  hold  sacred,  never  to  molest, 
nor  urge  others  to  molest  him ;  that  I  will  never  divulge 
what  I  know  of  him  ;  and  that  in  the  event  of  his  becoming 
involved  in  diflSculty,  I  will  stand  forth  as  his  friend. 
What  motive  he  has  in  putting  in  the  last-mentioned 
clause,  is  more  than  1  can  tell ;  for  if  detected  in  any  of 
his  heinous  crimes,  I  could  not  save  him  if  I  would ;  and 
it  certainly  argues  a  fear  of  detection,  which  his  bold, 
high-handed  villainies  seem  to  contradict.  He  farther 
Bays,  that  when  the  money  shall  have  been  paid  over  to 
him,  at  some  place  hereafter  to  be  settled  upon,  I  may 
then  take  my  daughter  home  with  me ;  but  that  meantime 
he  will  hold  her  as  security ;  and  as  I  deal  by  my  oath,  so 
will  he  by  her." 

"  But  you  will  not  agree  to  his  base  proposals  ?"  said  I, 
anxiously. 

•'No!  since  I  know  Walter  lives,  never,  so  help  me 
Heaven!"  he  replied,  with  energy.  "But  hist!  I  hear  a 
noise — perhaps  some  one  is  coming  to  me." 

No  more  words  passed  between  us  for  perhaps  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  when  the  Colonel  again  spoke,  in  a  low  tone : 

"  I  think  no  one  is  listening ;  but  it  may  be  prudent  for 
as  to  hold  np  further  conversation  for  the  present." 

25* 


294  CLARA    MORELAND. 

"A  question  or  two  first,"  I  replied.  "  How  long  have 
you  been  confined  in  your  dungeon  ?" 

"  Since  yesterday  eve." 

"Are  you  at  liberty  to  move  about?" 

"  Yes !     Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  ?" 

"  Not  here ;  but  should  I  be  murdered,  (I  shuddered  as 
the  word  passed  my  lips,)  and  you  escape,  I  trust  you  will 
acquaint  my  friends  with  my  fate  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  will  —  rely  upon  it — and  avenge  your 
death,  if  that  be  possible.  Alas !  young  man,  I  grieve 
that  you  are  here;  for  Warncliff  hates  you;  and  unless 
something  providentially  snatches  you  from  his  power,  you 
may  give  over  hope  of  life." 

"  I  know  it — too  well  I  know  it,"  I  replied. 

"Through  his  misrepresentations,  I  was  led,  a  while 
since,  to  do  you  injustice;  for  which,  as  we  may  never 
meet  again,  I  crave  your  forgiveness." 

"You  have  it,  Xlolonel  Moreland — you  have  it — and 
oh ! " 

"  Well,  go  on  !"  he  said,  as  I  paused. 

"  Will  you  do  me  a  favor.  Colonel  ?"  I  continued,  in  a 
hesitating  tone. 

"  If  in  my  power,  as  I  hope  for  mercy,  yes  !      Say  on !" 

In  a  tone  tremulous  with  emotion,  I  continued : 

"  Should  I  perish  here  by  the  hands  of  the  assassin,  will 
you  tell  your  gentle  daughter — will  you  tell  Clara — that 
— that — I  thought  of  her — and  prayed  for  her  deliverance 
in  the  last  awful  moment  of  my  existence  ?"  ^ 

"  I  will !  I  will !"  answered  the  Colonel,  quickly.  "  Ah  ! 
Mr.  Walton,  you  love  her  truly,  I  see ;  and  should  we  all 
escape  the  toils  thrown  around  us,  believe  me,  I  will  not 
forget  that  you  perilled  your  life  to  save  hers." 

"  Thanks  !"  cried  I :  "  thanks  i  you  rob  death  of  half  its 
terrors,  and  yet  make  life  dearer  to  me  than  ever.     I  have 


THE  ATTACK  AND  RESCUE.         295 

nothing  more  to  ask.     Farewell !  and  may  Heaven's  bless- 
ings be  upon  you  and  yours  !" 

About  an  hour  after  this  conversation,  I  heard  sounds  of 
music,  to  which  many  feet  kept  time,  indicating  that  the 
alarm  caused  by  my  appearance  among  the  banditti  had 
passed  away,  and  that  the  dance  was  now  renewed.  An 
hour  later,  the  revelry  began  to  grow  boisterous ;  and  so 
continued  till  after  midnight;  when  suddenly  the  sounds 
of  merriment  were  changed  to  cries  of  alarm. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE  ATTACK  AND   RESCUE. 


I  NOW  heard  the  shrieks  of  women,  the  shouts  of  men, 
and  the  report  of  fire-arms,  all  united  in  one  uproarious 
din ;  and  my  heart  bounded  with  emotions  of  hope  and 
fear,  such  as  one  in  my.  forlorn  situation  could  alone  expe- 
rience. That  the  rancho  was  attacked,  was  beyond  ques- 
tion ;  and  should  the  assailants,  whoever  they  were,  prove 
victorious,  I  could  reasonably  expect  life  and  liberty.  It 
was  probable  to  my  mind,  that  Morton  and  Walter  had 
fallen  in  with  a  scouting  party  and  guided  them  to  the 
relief  of  their  friends,  and  were  now  valiantly  fighting  for 
our  deliverance.  This  of  course  was  mere  conjecture; 
but  it  was  a  natural  one ;  and  oh  !  how  I  chafed  at  the 
thought,  that  I  could  not  make  one  of  their  number,  and 
strike  a  blow  against  my  enemies  for  the  freedom  of  her  I 
loved. 

For  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  sounds  of  fierce 
and  eanguinary  strife  continued ;  and  shrieks,  groans, 
Bhouts,  curses,  and  the  sharp  crack  of  tire-arms,  resounded 


296  CHoARA   MORELAND. 

from  every  quarter  of  the  stronghold  of  the  freebooters. 
At  length  the  noise  of  bloodj  contention  began  to  die 
away,  and  soon  after  comparative  quiet  reigned.  I  now 
fairly  trembled  with  anxiety  to  learn  which  party  had 
triumphed.  But  I  was  not  doomed  to  be  long  kept  in  sus- 
pense ;  for  presently  I  heard  footsteps  on  the  floor  above 
me,  and  a  voice,  which  with  joy  inexpressible  I  recognized, 
exclaim : 

"Is  it  here,  villain?" 

There  was  a  reply ;  and  the  next  moment  the  trap-door 
was  raised,  and  I  beheld  Morton  Harley,  with  a  torch  in 
his  hand,  bending  forward,  and  endeavoring  to  peer  down 
into  the  gulf  of  darkness  which  enveloped  me. 

"  Harry !"  he  cried,  in  an  anxious  tone — "  are  you 
here,  alive?" 

"  Yes !  Morton — yes  !"  I  fairly  shrieked,  in  an  excess  of 
joy  that  almost  deprived  me  of  the  power  of  motion ;  and 
I  reeled  forward  like  a  drunken  man,  under  a  very  disa- 
greeable sensation  of  suffocation.  "  The  ladder !"  I 
gasped:  "the  ladder!" 

The  ladder  was  instantly  lowered;  and  grasping  the 
lower  portion,  I  leaned  heavily  against  it  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, too  overcome  with  joy  to  attempt  an  ascent.  Feel- 
ing my  strength  revive,  I  placed  my  foot  upon  the  lower 
round,  and  the  next  thing  I  remember  I  was  locked  in  the 
embrace  of  my  friend  and  weeping  like  a  child.  Having 
thus  given  vent  to  emotions  that  were  stifling  me,  I  with- 
drew my  arms  from  the  neck  of  Harley,  and,  looking 
eagerly  into  his  face,  exclaimed : 

"  Clara  !  Clara  !  tell  me  she  is  safe  !" 
"  Heavens  !"  he  replied,  with  a  start :  "  I  have  not  seen 
her !  Where  is  she  ?"  he  demanded,  turning  quickly 
round  to  where  he  supposed  one  of  Warncliff's  xen  was 
standing.  "Ha!  the  fellow  has  fled,"  he  continued. 
**  But  no  matter :  I  promised  him  quarter  and  liberty  if  he 


THE   ATTACK  AND   RESCUE.  297 

would  conduct  me  to  you,  and  he  has  taken  all  further  re- 
sponsibility from  me  by  rashly  venturing  to  try  escape 
without  my  aid.  But  Clara  !  we  must  find  her  if  she  is  to 
be  found." 

"Yes!  yes!"  I  rejoined,  eagerly:  "let  us  make  active 
search ;"  and  as  I  spoke,  we  both  rushed  out  into  the  area 
or  inner  court. 

Here  I  saw  a  number  of  men  in  a  kind  of  undress  uni- 
form, with  arms  in  their  hands,  variously  occupied,  and  the 
ground  strewed  with  dead  bodies,  bloody  and  ghastly 
spectacles,  over  several  of  which  we  had  to  step  to  cross 
to  the  building  from  within  which  I  had  heard  Clara's 
voice  while  on  the  roof.  As  we  were  about  to  enter, 
Walter  came  rushing  out  of  an  adjoining  building,  and 
seeing  me,  instantly  grasped  my  hand,  and  said,  hur- 
riedly : 

"  Ah  !  Walton,  thank  Heaven  you  are  safe  !  But  my 
father — my  sister — know  you  aught  of  them?" 

"  Your  father  is  in  a  vault  of  yonder  building,  (and  I 
pointed  to  one  which  adjoined  the  granary)  and  Clara  we 
are  searching  for — God  send  we  may  find  her  safe  !" 

At  this  moment  we  were  all  startled  by  the  cry  of  fire ; 
and  looking  around,  perceived  a  thick  volume  of  smoke 
issuing  from  a  range  of  low  buildings,  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  granary  and  adjoining  the  corral,  in  which  a  num- 
ber of  horses,  belonging  to  the  freebooters,  were  now 
kicking  and  plunging  at  a  furious  rate.  Several  of  the 
men,  who  had  been  engaged  in  plundering  the  houses, 
came  running  out  at  the  cry  of  fire ;  and  seeing  at  once 
the  state  of  affairs,  instantly  set  to  work  to  liberate  and 
secure  the  animals.  The  females,  too,  whom  I  had  pre- 
viously seen — who,  during  the  melee,  had  been  huddled 
together  in  one  small  room,  half  frightened  out  of  their 
senses — now  came  pouring  into  the  court,  filling  the  air 
with  shrieks  of  terror.    A  single  glance  showed  me  that 


298  CLARA   MORELAND. 

Clara  "was  not  among  them ;  and  bidding  Walter  fly  to 
save  his  father,  while  I  made  search  for  his  sister,  I  darted 
into  the  main  dwelling.  At  the  very  threshold  I  stumbled 
over  the  dead  body  of  a  Mexican ;  and  by  the  light  of  the 
torch,  which  Harley  bore  in  after  me,  I  saw  several  others 
strewed  about,  weltering  in  their  blood,  all  apparently 
dead,  and  some  of  them  horribly  mutilated. 

"  The  Rangers  gave  no  quarter,"  observed  Harley. 

"  Are  our  friends  the  Texas  Rangers,  of  whom  Walter 
spoke?"  inquired  I. 

"Yes!  and  commanded  by  that  dare-devil  Walker, 
whose  very  appellation  is  a  word  of  terror  to  his  enemies." 

I  was  too  anxious  concerning  Clara  to  put  further 
questions  at  that  moment,  and  I  instantly  shouted  her 
name. 

"Who  calls  ?"  answered  a  faint  voice  above  fne. 

"Ila!  she  lives!"  cried  I,  in  ecstacy;  and  looking  up, 
I  perceived  a  trap  door  in  the  ceiling,  but  no  means  of 
reaching  it. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  me  at  once.  This  had  been  her 
place  of  confinement ;  and  by  removing  the  ladder,  Warn- 
clifi"  had  both  secured  her  against  escape  and  intrusion. 
For  this  ladder  I  now  looked  eagerly,  but  could  not  find  it. 

"Here!  take  the  torch,"  cried  Harley,  "and  these 
weapons,  and  remain  here  till  I  fetch  the  ladder  from  your 
dungeon." 

He  was  absent  but  a  brief  time  ;  during  which  I  learned 
from  Clara  that  she  was  so  secured  by  cords  as  not  to  be 
ible  to  make  herself  visible  to  me. 

On  the  ladder  being  placed  against  the  wall,  I  mounted 
in  haste,  torch  in  hand,  and  soon  its  ruddy  gleams  fell 
upon  the  object  of  my  search.  She  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  apartment,  neatly  attired — her  savage 
costume  having  been  exchanged  for  one  of  a  more  civilized 
appearance — and  as  I  rushed  up  to  her,  she  sunk  into  my 


THE  ATTACK  AND  RESCUE.         299 

arms,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and  fainted.  She  was  still  aa 
lovely  as  ever ;  but  I  could  perceive  the  traces  which 
grief,  fear  and  anxiety  had  made  upon  her  pale  features. 
A  strong  cord  was  around  her  waist,  with  the  other  end 
made  fast  to  a  ring  in  the  floor,  by  which  she  had  been 
confined  to  a  circuit  of  so  many  feet.  To  cut  this  was  the 
work  of  an  instant ;  and  lifting  her  gently,  I  bore  her  to 
the  top  of  the  ladder,  where  Harley  met  and  assisted  mo 
to  lower  her  to  the  ground. 

There  was  now  a  scene  of  wild  confusion  in  the  open 
court — men,  women  and  horses  all  seemingly  mixed  up 
together — while  from  the  low  structures,  whence  the  smoke 
had  first  issued,  burst  broad,  lurid  sheets  of  flame.  I  saw 
at  a  glance  that,  with  the  headway  the  fire  now  had,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  save  any  of  the  buildings,  and 
consequently  that  there  could  be  no  place  of  safety  within 
the  walls  of  the  rancho.  My  first  care,  therefore,  was  to 
bear  the  unconscious  Clara  through  the  great  gate,  which 
stood  wide  open  in  the  rear  of  the  building  we  were  in. 
Harley  accompanied  me  with  the  torch ;  and  it  was  well 
he  did ;  for  my  half  Indian  costume,  unshaved,  begrimed, 
weather-tanned  face,  and  squalid  appearance  generally,  led 
some  of  the  Rangers,  who  were  hurrying  out  and  in,  to 
mistake  me  for  a  Mexican  ;  and  more  than  once,  but  for 
the  timely  interposition  of  my  friend,  I  think  they  would 
have  done  me  a  serious  injury. 

Scarcely  had  I  got  beyond  the  walls  with  my  fair  burden, 
when  I  was  startled  by  the  heavy  tramp  of  a  body  of 
horse,  and  the  next  minute  some  thirty  mounted  men  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  rancho,  and  the  loud  blast  of  a  trumpet 
rung  out  above  the  din. 

"  What  means  this  ?"  asked  I  of  Harley,  in  some 
dismay. 

"  The  Rangers,"  he  replied — "  their  leader  is  sounding 
a  recall.* 


300  CLARA   MORELAND. 


"  I  do  not  understand  you :  I  took  those  to  be  th© 
Bangers  we  saw  inside." 

"  So  they  are,  but  only  a  part  of  the  whole  body.  The 
attack  was  made  by  one  division,  which  scaled  the  walls, 
and  this  is  the  other  division,  which  remained  without  to 
cut  ofif  the  fugitives.  They  have  just  returned  from  pur- 
"suing  them." 

At  this  moment  a  young  man,  of  small  stature,  came  up 
to  us,  and  abruptly  demanded : 

"What's  this?"  ' 

"  Ha !  Captain,  glad  to  see  you  safe,"  answered  Harley. 
"  This  is  my  friend,  and  the  fair  lady  we  came  to  liberate. 
Mr.  Walton,  Captain  Walker." 

From  having  heard  much,  at  different  times,  of  the 
redoubtable  feats  of  Walker,  whose  name  was  truly  a  word 
of  terror  to  his  foes,  I  had  naturally  formed  the  idea  that 
he  was  a  large,  brawny,  heavy-bearded,  fierce-looking 
fellow;  and  consequently  the  reader  can  judge  of  my 
surprise,  on  being  introduced  to  him  so  unexpectedly,  and 
finding  him  a  small,  slenderly  made  man,  with  a  smooth 
almost  boyish  face,  short  brown-  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and 
nothing  about  him  either  remarkable  or  striking. 

He  slightly  nodded  to  me,  as  Harley  mentioned  my 
name ;  and  pointing  to  Clara,  whom  I  was  supporting  on 
cne  arm,  said : 

"Is  she  wounded  ?" 

"No,  Captain,  only  fainted;"  and  as  I  spoke,  Clara 
drew  a  long  breath  and  opened  her  eyes. 

"She  recovers,"  he  added.  "Here,  Hanson,  (turning 
to  one  of  his  men)  bring  hither  your  horse,  and  be  quick." 
And  as  the  one  addressed  disappeared,  he  continued  to  us : 
"  Let  the  lady  mount  as  soon  as  she  is  able,  for  we  must 
away." 

"  My  father  and  Walter,  where  are  they  ?"  now  cried 
Clara. 


THE  ATTACK  AND  RESCUE.  301 

»         ' ' ■ . 

"  Good  heavens  !"  exclaimed  I,  horror-struck  at  the  idea  : 
"God  send  they  have  not  perished  in  the  flames!"  and  I 
■was  about  to  dart  into  the  rancho  in  search  of  them,  whea 
both  at  the  instant  came  rushing  through  the  gate. 

"Father!  dear,  dear  father!"  cried  Clara. 

"My  child!  my  daughter !"  returned  the  Colonel;  and 
the  next  moment  they  were  locked  in  each  other's  embrace. 

Walter's  turn  came  next ;  and  as  he  pressed  his  lips  to 
his  sister's,  tears  of  joy  dimmed  the  eyes  of  both — nor  was 
I  unmoved  at  the  scene. 

"  Ah  !  Colonel  Moreland,  glad  to  see  you  unhurt,"  said 
Walker,  offering  his  hand,  for  the  two  had  met  before. 

"  Captain  Walker,"  responded  the  Colonel,  seizing  tho 
proffered  hand  and  shaking  it  warmly,  "  I  am  not  a  man 
of  many  words — but  depend  upon  it  I  shall  not  forget  what 
you  have  done  for  me  and  mine.  You  have  made  rough 
work  here,  and  I  hope  you  have  exterminated  the  accursed 
band." 

"Some  have  escaped,"  answered  the  Captain,  quietly; 
"but  I  think  they  will  remember  us." 

"  Have  you  lost  any  of  your  brave  fellows  ?" 

"  Some  half-a-dozen,  I  fear.  Well,  Sergeant,  (to  one  of 
his  men  who  now  came  up)  how  many  are  missing?" 

"  There'll  be  seven  vacant  saddles,  Captain." 

"  Are  the  bodies  found  ?" 

"Four  of  them." 

"  How  many  wounded  ?" 

"None  unfit  for  duty." 

"  We  must  bury  the  dead,  and  then  depart.'* 

It  was  a  picturesque,  but  gloomy  scene,  as,  by  the  light 
of  the  burning  rancho,  the  Kangers  made  a  hasty  burial 
of  their  fallen  comrades.  While  this  was  taking  place, 
having  resigned  Clara  to  the  care  of  her  father,  I  held  a 

26 


802  CLARA  MORELAND. 


hurried  conversation  with  Harley,  and  this  is  the  substance 
of  what  I  gathered. 

On  my  separating  from  my  friends  to  spy  out  the 
inmates  of  the  rancho,  they  had  listened  in  anxious  sus- 
pense till  the  shouts  of  the  freebooters  too  clearly  pro- 
claimed that  I  had  been  taken  prisoner.  Knowing  them- 
selves powerless  to  do  any  thing  for  me,  and  remembering 
what  I  had  made  them  promise,  they  immediately  set  off, 
in  the  hope  that,  providentially,  they  might  fall  in  with 
succor.  They  took  a  southerly  direction,  and  soon  reached 
the  bank  of  a  large  stream,  which  they  concluded  must  be 
the  Rio  Grande.  This  they  began  to  descend,  keeping 
the  water  in  sight,  and  had  advanced  some  five  or  six 
miles,  alternately  through  glade  and  chapparal,  when  they 
heard  a  body  of  horse  approaching  from  below.  Conceal- 
ing themselves,  they  waited  till  the  horsemen  were  abreast 
of  them,  when,  thinking  it  more  than  likely  they  were 
Americans,  they  hailed. 

Fortunately  the  horsemen  proved  to  be  the  Texas  Ran- 
gers, who  were  on  a  scouting  expedition  in  quest  of  the 
notorious  Romano  Falcon ;  and  on  hearing  the  story  of 
Walter  and  Morton,  Walker  decided  on  making  an  imme- 
diate attack  on  the  rancho,  thinking  it  not  improbable 
that  Falcon  and  his  band  might  be  within.  They  accord- 
ingly approached  the  stronghold  quietly,  and  while  one 
party  scaled  the  walls  and  made  a  sudden  onset  inside,  the 
other  remained  without  to  cut  off  all  who  might  seek  escape 
by  flight.  Whether  Warncliff  was  among  the  living  or 
dead,  Harley  did  not  know. 

While  on  his  way  back  to  the  rancho,  Harley  had 
learned  our  geographical  localit}'-,  with  other  matters  of 
great  interest  to  us,  who  had  been  so  long  without  new? 
of  any  kind.  We  were  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the 
Rio  Grande,  and  about  fifteen  miles  above  Matamoras, 
opposite  which  place  General  Taylor  was  now  encamped 


THE  ATTACK  AND  RESCUE.  '       303 

"with  the  main  body  of  his  little  army,  engaged  in  throwing 
up  the  redoubt  since  known  as  Fort  Brown,  and  each 
moment  expecting  an  attack  from  the  enemy,  who,  with 
treble  his  numbers,  was  watching  him  from  the  other  side 
of  the  river.  Some  skirmishing  had  already  taken  place 
between  small  detachments  of  Americans  and  Mexicans ; 
but  as  yet  there  had  been  no  pitched  battle  between  the 
two  armies.  The  notorious  Romano  Falcon  had  drawn 
the  first  blood,  by  fiendishly  beating  in  the  skull  of  the 
gallant  Colonel  Cross,  who  had  unfortunately  been  taken 
prisoner  by  some  of  his  cut- throat  band.  For  this  murder- 
ous deed  a  price  had  been  set  on  his  head,  and  vengeance, 
summary  and  terrible,  sworn  against  him. 

By  the  time  Ilarley  had  communicated  this  much, 
horses  were  brought  to  us,  and  we  were  requested  to 
mount.  On  looking  around,  I  perceived,  by  the  lurid  light 
of  the  burning  rancho,  that  most  of  the  Rangers  were  in 
their  saddles.  The  exceptions  were  Walker  and  some  of 
his  subordinate  officers,  who  were  conversing  with  the  fair 
Mexican  senoritas.  These  latter  stood  grouped  together 
near  the  gate,  looking  very  much  distressed  and  disconso- 
late— as  in  fact  they  had  good  reason  to  be — all  their 
friends  having  fled  or  been  killed,  leaving  them  to  the 
mercy  of  their  country's  foes.  Presently  an  order  was 
given,  and  some  twenty  of  the  horses,  which  had  belonged 
to  the  bandits,  were  brought  up  to  the  group.  On  the 
bare  backs  of  these  beasts  the  girls  were  mounted;  and 
while  the  end  of  a  halter  was  allowed  each  to  steady  ter- 
self  by  and  keep  her  position,  a  Ranger  rode  by  her  side 
and  had  full  control  over  the  animal  that  carried  her. 

Every  thing  now  being  in  readiness  for  departure,  Walker 
sprung  upon  the  back  of  his  own  high-mettled  beast,  the 
bugle  was  sounded,  the  Rangers  fell  into  position,  and 
we  set  off  at  a  steady  trot,  shaping  our  course  for  the  Rio 
Grande  at  tVe  nearest  point. 


804  CLARA   MORELAND, 


For  some  distance  the  light  of  the  burning  rancho  ena- 
bled ns  to  see  in  every  direction;  and  for  a  long  time 
after,  its  lurid  gleams  were  visible  on  the  azure  vault 
above  us.  We  left  it  alone,  to  do  its  work  of  purification, 
and  cleanse  the  earth  of  a  spot  foul  with  crime. 

On  reaching  the  bank  of  the  river,  the  Mexican  girls 
dismounted;  and  bringing  from  concealment  some  three 
or  four  small  boats,  they  waved  the  Rangers  a  grateful 
adios  for  their  gallantry,  and  were  soon  rowing  over  the 
water  to  their  homes  on  the  other  side.  Many  of  the 
latter,  doubtless,  regretted  such  speedy  parting  from  their 
fair  companions — but  the  word  of  their  leader  was  a  law 
which  none  dared  disobey. 

Walker  now  rode  up  to  us,  and  said : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  should  be  glad  to  escort  you  myself  to 
Taylor's  camp^ — but  the  business  I  am  on  will  not  permit. 
From  yonder  females  I  have  learned  it  was  reported  at 
the^  rancho,  that  Romano  Falcon  and  his  assassin  band, 
leagued  with  one  Count  D'Estang  and  a  fe\f  followers,  are 
above  here,  and  I  am  eager  to  fall  in  with  the  cut-throats 
and  do  them  justice.  Therefore  I  have  selected  ten 
trusty  fellows,  who  will  take  down  the  captured  horses,  and 
I  trust  give  you  a  safe  escort." 

The  Colonel  replied,  warmly  thanking  him  for  all  he 
had  done,  and  expressing  himself  satisfied  with  this 
arrangement — adding,  that  but  for  his  daughter,  he,  for 
one,  would  gladly  accompany  him. 

"As  for  Romano  Falcon,"  he  continued,  "I  know 
nothing  about  him ;  but  this  so-called  Count  D'Estang,  is 
a  villain  of  the  worst  stamp,  whom  you  have  touched  in  a 
vital  part  already." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Walker. 

"  The  cut-throats  you  have  just  attacked,  killed,  or  put 
to  rout,  were  under  his  command." 

"  Ha !  indeed  ?     Then  while  assisting  you,  '  I  have  done 


THE  ATTACK  AND  RESCUE.         305 

the  State  some  service.'  But  time  presses.  Adieu,  Colo- 
nel and  gentlemen." 

With  this  the  gallant  Captain  closed  conversation  with 
our  party,  gave  a  few  rapid  orders  to  his  men,  and  in- 
stantly dashed  away. 

Our  escort  of  ten  had  some  thirty  horses  to  manage, 
besides  those  which  they  rode ;  but  the  animals  were  not 
refractory,  and  gave  them  very  little  trouble.  We  con- 
tinued down  the  bank  of  the  river,  conversing  among  our- 
selves, in  low  tones,  each  congratulating  the  other  on  his 
Providential  escape,  and  all  secretly  returning  thanks  for 
the  wonderful  manner  in  which  we  had  been  preserved  and 
brought  together. 

"  Dear  Cl.ira,"  said  I,  in  a  very  low  tone,  riding  close 
to  her  side,  "  I  feel  an  inexpressible  happiness  in  knowing 
that  I  had  somethinc/  to  do  with  your  rescue  from  an 
awful  doom." 

She  seemed  to  shudder ;  and  then  extending  a  hand, 
which  I  eagerly  seized,  said,  tremulously : 

"  Ah !  say  no  more  to  me  now — my  emotions  are  too 
deep  for  utterance.  I  would  be  alone  in  thought,  to  thank 
God  for  the  wonderful  deliverance  of  myself  and  those  I 
love." 

For  some  six  or  eight  miles  we  continued  down  the  bank 
of  the  Rio  Grande,  without  accident  or  incident,  and  were 
in  the  act  of  crossing  an  open  plot  of  ground,  surrounded 
by  dense  chaparral,  when  suddenly  armed  horsemen  burst 
in  upon  us  on  every  side,  to  the  number  of  a  hundred  cr 
more.  Instantly  the  Rangers  let  go  their  captured  horses ; 
and  drawing  their  revolvers,  with  which  all  were  armed, 
made  a  bold,  determined  dash  upon  the  closing  circle  of 
Mexicans,  calling  on  us  to  follow.  Had  there  been  no 
lady  in  our  party,  we  should  have  done  so,  and  doubtless 
Bome  of  us  would  have  escaped;  but  as  it  was,  each  seemed 
20  26* 


306  CLARA  MOKELAND. 


to  think  more  of  the  safety  of  Clara  than  his  own ;  and 
instinctively,  as  it  were,  we  formed  a  close  circle  around 
her,  to  protect  her  from  any  chance  shot. 

The  Rangers  were  now  having  a  desperate  struggle 
with  their  enemies,  as  we  could  tell  by  yells  and  groans, 
the  quick  report  of  fire-arms,  and  the  clash  of  steel. 
During  the  melee,  Harley  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of  pain,  and 
his  bridle-arm  fell  dangling  by  his  side,  broken  by  a  chance 
ball.  While  we  were  endeavoring  to  render  him  some 
assistance,  a  party  dashed  up  to  us,  the  leader  shouting  in 
Spanish  that  we  must  instantly  yield  ourselves  prisoners 
or  be  cut  to  pieces. 

The  Colonel  understood  enough  of  Spanish  to  reply 
that  we  had  made  and  should  make  no  resistance. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

IN  THE   CAMP  OP  THE   ENEMY. 

None  of  the  Rangers  were  taken  prisoners,  and  only 
two  made  their  escape — the  others  died  fighting  on  the 
ground.  But  the  Mexicans  paid  dearly  for  their  victory 
— having  lost  one  oflScer  and  seventeen  privates,  killed  in 
the  skirmish — besides  seven  others  very  seriously,  if  not 
fatally,  wounded. 

Stripping  from  the  Rangers  every  thing  of  value,  the 
valiant  victors  proceeded  to  collect  their  own  dead  and 
wounded,  to  take  with  them  into  Matamoras.  They  also 
took  from  us  our  arms  ;  and  then  separating  us,  detailed 
four  dragoons  as  a  guard  to  each  person — so  much  did 
they  fear  something  unexpected  and  desperate  might  sud- 


IN  THE  CAMP  OF  THE  ENEMY.       307 

denly  be  accomplished  by  los  Americanos.  In  this  man- 
ner we  were  escorted  to  one  of  the  upper  ferries,  and 
taken  across  tlie  Rio  Grande.  Day  broke  just  as  we 
reached  the  right  bank  of  the  river ;  and  as  we  entered 
the  city,  the  sun  rose  bright  and  beautiful,  dispelling  even 
the  gloom  of  the  mind,  and  making  every  thing  look  plea- 
sant and  cheerful. 

Hundreds  of  citizens  and  soldiers  were  abroad — and 
windows  and  roofs  showed  many  a  pretty  pair  of  black 
eyes  peering  at  us  as  we  rode  past  to  the  Grand  Plaza, 
whither  our  captors  conducted  us  in  triumph.  This  Plaza 
is  a  large  open  square,  surrounded  by  trees  and  buildings, 
from  which  diverge  several  wide  streets.  On  one  side  was 
an  unfinished  Cathedral,  and  opposite  it  a  prison.  All  the 
houses  fronting  on  the  square  were  either  brick  or  stone, 
with  very  thick  walls,  and  heavy  iron  grates  to  the  windows. 

From  one  of  these,  a  massive  stone  structure,  waved 
the  Mexican  flag,  and  around  the  door  stood  several  officers 
in  splendid  uniforms.  This  was  the  head-quarters  of 
General  Arista,  who  had  lately  arrived  in  town  as  com- 
mander-in-chief. The  Square,  or  Plaza,  was  full  of  sol- 
diers on  parade —their  new,  beautiful  uniforms,  and  bright, 
glittering  arms,  as  they  marched  and  countermarched,  set- 
ting off  their  persons  to  great  advantage,  and  giving  them 
quite  a  formidable  military  appearance. 

Now  that  we  were  considered  in  safe  quarters,  we  were 
allowed  to  come  together,  though  still  surrounded  by  a 
Btrong  guard.  The  dead  were  also  conveyed  into  the  Cathe- 
dral, to  have  mass  said  over  the  bodies,  and  the  wounded 
taken  to  the  hospital,  while  our  commandant  went  to 
make  a  report  to  his  chief. 

"  Where  will  our  adventures  end  ?  and  what  will  be  the 
end  of  them  ?"  were  the  first  words  of  the  Colonel,  in  a 
desponding  tone,  as  we  met  in  the  Plaza.     ''  But  I  beg 


308  CLARA   MORELAND. 


your  pardon,  Mr.  Harley !  I  had  forgotten  your  wound- 
it  must  be  very  painful." 

"  It  is  somewhat  so,"  replied  Harley. 
•    "If  we  could  only  get  a  surgeon,  and  have  it  attended 
to !"  said  Clara,  anxiously,  who  seemed  to  think  more  of 
him  than  herself. 

*'  A  surgeon  we  must  have,"  said  Walter,  "  if  we  can 
possibly  procure  one.  Father,  you  can  speak  a  little 
Spanish,  pray  make  inquiry  of  one  of  these  fellows,  as  to 
how  we  can  best  manage  the  matter." 

The  Colonel  accordingly  addressed  a  few  words  to  one 
of  our  guard ;  who  answered  in  a  surly  tone,  that  as  to 
surgeon,  he  would  like  to  act  in  that  capacity  long  enough 
to  perform  an  operation  on  all  our  throats,  or  words  to 
that  effect. 

As  the  Colonel  translated  his  reply,  Clara  exclaimed : 

"  Good  heavens  !  have  we  indeed  been  passed  from  one 
band  of  illegal  cut-throats  to  another  of  legal  assassins  ?" 

"  We  indeed  seem  to  be  the  foot-balls  of  Fortune,"  re- 
plied Harley;  "and  where  the  foot  of  the  fickle  dame 
will  send  us  next.  Heaven  only  knows  !" 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  this  fellow's  gruffness  is  not  a 
standard  by  which  to  judge  our  foes :  I  have  heard  that 
Spanish  officers  are  gentlemen." 

"And  so,  doubtless,  we  shall  find  them,"  rejoined 
Harley. 

While  we  were  thus  conversing,  an  order  came  to  con- 
duct us  into  the  presence  of  General  Arista.  To  be  brief, 
we  found  him  very  polite  and  gentlemanly ;  and  after 
hearing  our  story,  and  asking  us  a  few  questions,  he  said 
that  we  did  not  properly  come  under  the  title  of  prisoners 
of  war — as,  when>taken,  we  were  not  in  arms  against 
Mexico;  and  if  we  would  give  our  parole  not  to  take  up 
arms  against  his  country  during  the  war  now  pending,  we 
Bhould  be  at  liberty  to  depart  when  and  where  we  pleased. 


IN  THE  CAMP  OF  THE  ENEMY.       309 

r 

We  held  a  consultation  among  ourselves,  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  such  a  parole  too  much  encroached 
upon  the  liberty  of  free-born  Americans,  and  we  declined 
to  accept  his  proposal.  . 

"Then policy  -will  compel  me  to  order  you  under  guard," 
was  his  reply. 

"  Let  us  give  our  parole  not  to  attempt  to  leave  the  city 
for  a  week,"  suggested  Ilarley. 

To  this  proposition  we  all  agreed;  and  on  making  it 
known  to  Arista,  he  cordially  accepted  it,  and  invited  us 
to  dine  with  him  on  the  following  day,  when  he  said  we 
should  meet  some  captured  American  officers.  He  then 
gave  us  written  permits  to  go  any  where  within  the  limits 
of  the  city,  and  politely  bowed  us  out.  We  left  the  pre- 
sence with  a  very  favorable  opinion  of  the  Mexican  Com- 
mander. 

-Before  setting  out  on  his  expedition  in  search  of  me, 
Harley,  with  his  usual  forethought,  not  knowing  what 
might  happen,  had  sewed  up  in  the  lining  of  an  under-gar- 
ment  a  number  of  gold  coins,  which  the  freebooters,  in 
searching  him,  had  not  discovered;  and  these  now  proved 
of  incalculable  benefit  to  us — all  of  whom,  save  him,  were 
penniless.  With  true  generosity,  he  now  made  a  general 
distribution  among  the  party  ;  and  as  gold  will  always 
command  attention  and  respect  in  any  country,  we  soon 
had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that,  for*  the  present,  we 
should  want  for  nothing,  and  our  spirits  rose  accordingly. 
In  a  very  shorty  time  we  found  ourselves  fixed  in  com- 
fortable quarters  f* "and  a  surgeon  was  sent  for,  who  skill- 
fully set  my  friend's  arm,  and  carefully  dressed  the  wound. 
While  my  friends  procured  such  articles  of  clothing  as 
they  stood  most  in  need  of,  I  made  an  entire  renovation  of 
the  outward  man ;  and  with  a  cleanly  shaved  face,  and  a 
decent  wig  on  my  head,  I  flattered  myself  I  once  more 
had  the  appearance  of  a  very  respectable  white  individual. 


310  CLARA   MOREL  AND. 


Beyond  the  exciting  incidents  of  my  adventures,  I  feel 
that  the  reader  can  have  very  little  interest  In  my  per- 
sonal narrative ;  and  were  it  otherwise,  I  have  neither 
time,  space,  nor  inclination  to  record  commonplace  affairs. 
I  trust  I  may,  therefore,  with  propriety,  pass  over  all 
periods  of  comparative  inaction  with  a  very  few  words. 

During  the  week  that  I  remained  in  Matamoras  on 
parole,  I  held  frequent  and  long  conversations  with  Clara 
— my  friends  ever  managing  to  leave  us  alone  together, 
the  Colonel  not  excepted.  These  days,  as  I  recall  them, 
are  among  the  most  pleasant  of  my  life  ;  and  it  was  with 
joy  inexpressible  I  saw  her  spirits  revive,  the  bloom  of 
health  gradually  return  to  her  wan,  faded  cheek,  and  a 
look  of  happiness  beam  from  her  soft  blue  eyes.  But 
withal,  I  was  not  wholly  contented  with  my  situation.  I 
foresaw  there  was  soon  to  be  a  fearful  struggle  between  the 
armies  of  my  country  and  Mexico;  and  I  felt  that  in  the 
present  crisis  the  former  had  need  of  every  arm  that 
could  be  raised  for  her  support.  Love  struggled  in  my 
breast  against  duty  and  patriotism.  I  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  tearing  myself  away  from  one  I  so  dearly  loved, 
perhaps  never  to  see  her  again ;  and  yet  to  remain  here, 
inactive,  with  my  gallant  countrymen  contending  against 
overwhelming  numbers,  seemed  a  species  of  cowardice  at 
which  my  soul  revolted.  True,  I  was  a  prisoner,  and  not 
a  soldier ;  true  again,  I  was  but  a  single  individual ;  and 
of  what  advantage  would  be  a  single  arm  in  so  unequal  a 
combat  ?  Then  I  reflected  thaj^  army  was  only  so  many 
single  individuals — that  a  thousand  was  only  so  many 
units — and  if  all  should  reason  thus,  who  would  be  left  to 
sustain  the  honor  of  my  country  ?  The  first  battle  I  knew 
would  be  an  important  one — and  if  won  by  Americans, 
would  be  of  incalculable  benefit,  in  inspiring  confidence 
and  damping  the  ardor  of  the  foe ;  if  lost,  vice  versa. 
The  events  of  the  week  gradually  determined  me ;  and  I 


IN  THE  CAMP  OF  THE  ENEMY.       311 

resolved,  if  it  were  possible,  to  effect  my  escape  at  the  ex- 
piration of  my  parole. 

On  dining  with  General  Arista  the  day  following  our 
arrival  in  Matamoras,  I  met  two  American  officers  who  had 
recently  been  made  prisoners.  In  conversation  with  them. 
I  learned  that  Taylor's  whole  force  was  but  little  over  two 
thousand,  while  that  under  Arista  was  nearly  treble  this 
number.  The  General,  too,  aroused  my  national  pride,  by 
a  remark  which  was  translated  to  me.  Speaking  of  Tay- 
lor, he  said  it  was  a  pity  that  such  a  handful  of  troops 
should  be  entrusted  to  so  fool-hardy  a  commander,  who,  to 
gratify  an  over-weening  confidence  and  vanity,  might  yet 
venture  to  give  him  battle,  when  his  whole  force  would  be 
swept  away  like  chaff  before  the  wind ;  and  added,  that 
he  pitied  the  soldiers  as  much  as  he  despised  their  leader. 
My  cheek  burned  at  this  recital,  and  I  felt  I  should  like  to 
je  one  of  the  pitied  few. 

At  the  time  of  our  capture  by  the  Mexican  troops, 
General  Taylor  was  encamped  opposite  Matamoras,  hourly 
expecting  an  attack.  This  attack,  however,  was  not  made ; 
and  three  or  four  days  after,  he  withdrew  with  his  main 
force  to  Point  Isabel,  leaving  the  fort  he  had  constructed 
garrisoned  by  a  regiment  of  infantry,  under  the  command 
of  the  lamented  Major  Brown.  The  news  of  his  retreat, 
as  the  Mexicans  termed  it,  was  hailed  by  the  ringing  of 
bells,  discharge  of  arms,  and  other  demonstrations  of  joy. 

On  the  second  day  after  Taylor's  departure,  I  was 
startled  early  in  the  morning  by  a  heavy  cannonade,  and 
soon  ascertained  that  the  Mexican  guns  had  opened  upon  the 
Port.  The  streets,  too,  were  thronged  with  soldiers,  who 
were  already  marching  out  of  the  city,  and  crossing  the 
Rio  Grande  above  and  below  the  town.  I  knew  by  this 
that  a  battle  must  shortly  take  place,  and  I  felt  more 
than  ever  anxious  to  have  a  part  in  it. 

Nothing  had  been  said  to  us,  meantime,  about  extending 


312  CLARA  MORELAND. 

our  parole ;  and  I  augured  that,  during  the  excitement  of 
more  momentous  affairs,  we  should  be  overlooked  entirely. 
At  all  events,  I  had  resolved  not  to  give  any  further 
jDarole,  and  escape  if  I  could  when  the  present  one  should 
expire. 

And  I  had  further  resolved  not  to  let  my  friends  know  of 
my  design  till  I  had  attempted  to  put  it  in  execution — and 
for  these  reasons :  Clara,  I  knew,  would  strongly  oppose 
my  going,  and  I  wished  to  avoid  a  scene;  the  Colonel, 
even,  might  not  approve  of  it;  Harley  would  object, 
because  his  wound  would  notNpermit  him  to  be  my  com- 
panion ;  and  Walter,  I  feared,  would  insist  on  accompany- 
ing me,  ia- which  case  all  would  have  to  be  made  known  to 
his  father,  or  I  be  censured  for  his  clandestine  departure. 
In  view  of  all  these  things,  I  wrote  a  few  lines  to  each, 
telling  them  my  plans,  and  giving  my  reasons  for  doing  as 
I  did,  and  enclosed  the  whole  in  one  envelope,  addressed  to 
Colonel  Moreland,  and  left  it  where  it  would  be  found  the 
morning  after  my  departure. 

To  be  brief,  on  the  night  following  the  expiration  of  my 
parole,  I  managed  to  get  past  the  sentinels  stationed  at  the 
lower  part  of  the  town,  and,  descending  the  Rio  Grande 
about  a  mile,  swum  across,  and  immediately  repaired  to 
Fort  Brown.     Here,  on  being  challenged,  I  answered  : 

"I  am  an  American,  and  have  just  escaped  from  the 
enemy." 

This  procured  me  admittance ;  and  on  entering,  I  was 
surprised  to  meet  Captain  Walker.  He  did  not  at  first 
recognize  me,  owing  to  my  altered  appearance ;  but  on 
mentioning  my  name,  he  offered  me  his  hand,  and  said: 

"I  am  glad  you  escaped — I  hope  your  friends  did  also." 

In  a  few  words  I  told  him  what  had  since  happened  to 
us,  and  how  I  came  to  be  at  the  Fort  now. 

"  So,"  he  rejoined,  "  you  wish  to  have  a  hand  in  th^ 


IN  THE  CAMP  OF  THE  ENEMY.        313 

expected  fight  ?  Well,  it  is  not  far  off,  and  we  shall  need 
all  the  men  we  can  raise.  Taylor  is  now  at  Point  Isabel, 
and  between  him  and  us  the  enemy  is  gathering  in  force. 
The  General  heard  the  bombardment  here,  and  resolved  to 
communicate  with  the  Fort  before  setting  out  on  his  return 
march.  I  brought  his  despatches  safely  through  last  night, 
and  within  the  hour  shall  be  on  my  way  back.  If  you 
would  like  to  accompany  me,  I  will  provide  you  with  a 
horse  and  arms." 

*'The  very  favor  I  would  have  asked,"  returned  I, 
eagerly. 

"It  is  by  no  means  a  safe  journey,"  he  rejoined. 
"Between  here  and  Point  Isabel  are  some  four  or  five 
thousand  of  the  enemy,  and  we  may  not  expect  to  get 
through  witliout  a  brush." 

"  I  will  join  my  fortune  with  yours,"  said  I. 

"Enough!"  he  replied;  and  turning  away,  he  gave 
directions  that  a  horse,  etcetera,  should  be  provided  for 
me. 

At  this  moment  another  person  was  admitted  into  the 
Fort ;  and  what  was  my  astonishment  to  recognize  in  the 
new  comer  Walter  Moreland  !  He  was  no  less  astonished 
to  find  me  here  before  him. 

"Can  I  believe  my  eyes?"  he  cried,  as  he  seized  my 
hand.  "  Why,  Henry  Walton,  how  in  the  name  of  all  that 
is  wonderful  do  I  find  you  here  ?" 

"  The  very  question  I  was  about  to  ask  you,"  I  replied. 

Mutual  explanations  followed,  by  which  it  appeared  that 
we  had  both  been  seized  with  the  same  patriotic  idea,  and 
each  had  planned  and  executed  his  escape  like  the  other. 
For  the  very  same  reason  that  I  had  kept  my  design  a  secret 
from  him,  he  had  kept  his  a  secret  from  me,  and  from  his 
friends  also.  Like  myself,  he  had  left  a  note  behind,  had 
set  out  at  the  same  hour,  had  got  past  the  sentinels  in 

27 


314  CLARA  MORELAND. 


the  upper  part  of  the  town,  and  had  swum  the  Kio  Grande 
above  Matamoras,  while  I  was  swimming  it  below. 

"  There  is  something  very  curious  in  all  this,"  said  I : 
"  and  it  goes  to  prove,  what  never  before  occurred  to  me 
— namely — that  we  may  think  alike  as  well  as  look 
alike." 

Another  horse  was  provided  for  "Walter,  and  we  set  out 
on  our  perilous  journey — our  party,  with  the  gallant  Walker 
at  its  head,  numbering  only  nine,  all  told. 

About  five  miles  from  Fort  Brown,  we  suddenly  came 
upon  a  strong  picket-guard  of  the  enemy,  drawn  up  directly 
in  our  way.  They  challenged,  and  Walker  answered  by 
firing  some  three  or  four  shots  in  quick  succession,  and 
shouting  to  us : 

'  "  Charge  through  the yellow  skins,  comrades,  and 

give  them  a  volley  as  you  pass !" 

He  led  the  way,  and  we  followed,  firing  right  and  left ; 
and  ere  the  astonished  Mexicans  had  fairly  comprehended 
what  was  taking  place,  we  were  far  on  the  other  side  of 
them,  speeding  onward  like  the  wind. 

About  a  mile  beyond  the  picket-guard,  as  we  were 
dashing  on  at  the  same  furious  speed.  Walker,  who  was 
still  on  the  lead,  suddenly  wheeled  his  horse  to  the  left, 
plunged  into  some  thick  chaparral,  and  shouted : 

"  The  enemy !  the  enemy !  Bend  low  in  your  saddles 
and  follow  me." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken,  when  crack,  crack 
went  some  fifty  muskets ;  and  the  balls  whizzed  over  us, 
under  us,  and  about  us,  so  that  it  seems  a  miracle  none  ot 
us  were  harmed.  For  the  next  ten  miles  we  had  to  ride 
with  great  caution ;  fq^  we  were  completely  surrounded  by 
the  enemy,  and  nothing  but  the  darkness  saved  us  from 
being  killed  or  made  prisoners.  We  had  several  other 
narrow  escapes,  but  got  through  in  safety;  and  in  five 


ON  THE   FIELD   OF   PALO   ALTO.  315 

hours  from  leaving  Fort  Brown,  Walker  was  making  hia 
report  to  General  Taylor  at  Point  Isabel. 

Great  fears  had  been  entertained  that  he  had  either 
been  killed  or  taken  prisoner;  and  his  safe  arrival,  and 
cheering  intelligence  that  all  was  right  at  the  Fort,  was 
hailed  with  every  demonstration  of  joy — not  only  by  his 
own  men,  but  by  the  whole  army — and  great  enthusiasm 
and  high  spirits  were  the  consequence. 


CHAPTER  XXVIl. 

ON   THE   FIELD   OF   PALO  ALTO. 

The  day  following  our  arrival  at  Point  Isabel,  was  one 
of  general  bustle  in  the  Camp.  The  report  of  Walker 
that  the  enemy  was  encamped  in  great  numbers  between 
Point  Isabel  and  the  River  Fort,  as  it  was  at  this  time 
called,  led  every  one  to  anticipate  a  general  battle  on  the 
return  of  Taylor,  which  he  had  decided  on,  and  for  which 
he  was  now  making  active  preparations. 

In  a  brief  conversation  we  held  with  Captain  Walker, 
Walter  and  I  offered  our  services  for  the  approaching 
engagement,  but  told  him  for  the  present  we  did  not  wish 
to  enlist  for  any  definite  term  of  service.  He  replied  that 
it  was  unusual  to  accept  volunteers  on  such  conditions; 
that  it  was  necessary  for  all  new  recruits  to  go  through  a 
certain  routine  of  discipline  before  being  brought  into 
action  ;  but  concluded  by  saying  that  the  present  was  an 
emergency — that  he  was  short  of  men — that  all  who  could 
and  would  serve  against  the  enemy  were  needed — and  that 
if  we  felt  disposed  to  take  part  in  the  approaching  contest, 
we  might  remain  in  his  corps. 


316  CLARA  MORELAND. 

The  next  day,  the  seventh  of  May,  General  Taylor 
issued  marching  orders ;  and  at  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon the  whole  army,  a  little  over  two  thousand  in  number, 
was  put  in  motion,  with  a  large  train  of  provisions  and 
munitions  of  war.  We  proceeded  some  five  or  six  miles 
on  the  road  to  Matamoras,  and  encamped  for  the  night ! 
Alas !  the  last  night  preceding  the  awful  night  of  death 
which  many  a  poor  fellow,  then  buoyant  with  hope  and 
glorious  anticipations,  was  ever  destined  to  see.  The 
morrow  !  the  eventful  morrow ! 

Before  the  break  of  day  the  Rangers  were  in  their 
saddles,  and  we  set  out  in  advance  of  the  main  army  to 
reconnoitre  the  position  of  the  enemy.  "When  we  reached 
what  had  been  his  main  camp,  we  found  it  deserted.  This 
looked  as  if  he  were  not  intending  to  give  us  battle ;  and 
returning,  Walker  made  his  report  to  General  Taylor. 

A  little  after  sunrise  the  army  and  train  were  put  in 
motion,  while  we  again  set  off  in  advance,  being  detailed  as 
scouts.  Before  noon  we  came  in  sight  of  the  enemy, 
whose  whole  force  was  drawn  up  directly  across  the  road, 
and  whose  lines,  extending  some  mile  and  a  half,  gave  him 
a  very  formidable  appearance.  On  making  this  discovery, 
we  turned  back,  met  our  General,  and  reported  accord- 

About  noon  the  two  armies  came  in  sight  of  each  other. 
Taylor's  forces  were  at  this  time  upon  a  wide,  level  plain, 
and  near  a  pond  of  clear,  cold  water.  In  front  was  a  row 
of  dwarfish  trees,  which  the  Mexicans  denominated  Palo 
Alto ;  and  beyond  these,  the  bright  uniforms  of  the  foe 
could  be  faintly  discerned,  their  polished  arras  glittering 
and  flashing  in  the  clear  sunlight.  Here  our  considerate 
General  ordered  a  halt,  and  permitted  his  men,  one  half  at 
a  time,  to  fill  their  canteens  at  the  pond — after  which  he 
permitted  them  to  rest  an  hour. 

This  proceeding,  trifling  though  it  may  seem,  I  have  no 


ON   THE   FIELD   OF   FALO   xiLTO.  317 

doubt  gave  us  the  brilliant  victory  of  Palo  Alto ;  for  the 
troops  had  niarched  twelve  miles,  under  a  burning  sun,  had 
suft'ered  much  for  want  of  water,  and  were  greatly  fatigued ; 
and  had  they  been  brought  into  action  immediately  on 
coming  in  sight  of  the  enemy,  I  do  not  think  they  could 
have  withstood,  for  hours,  a  fresh,  vigorous  foe  of  treble 
their  numbers. 

As  soon  as  the  men  had  suiEciently  rested,  the  columns 
were  formed,  and  the  order  to  march  was  given ;  and  with 
slow,  firm,  martial  tread,  the  whole  force  moved,  with  the 
precision  of  a  drill,  over  the  soft,  matted  grass  of  the 
prairie,  which  gave  back  no  sound. 

These  were  the  awful  moments  to  try  the  nerves  of  the 
bravest.  Slowly,  but  surely,  they  were  approaching  an 
overwhelming  foe,  and  knew  that  in  a  few  minutes,  at  the 
farthest,  the  terrible  carnage  of  battle  would  begin,  and 
that  Death,  riding  on  the  iron  hail  of  belching  cannons, 
would  be  busy  in  their  midst.  Now  they  had  time  to 
think — to  reflect — to  «^c,  as  it  were,  the  danger  upon 
which  they  were  advancing;  and  if  their  cheeks  paled, 
their  hearts  beat  faster,  and  they  felt  that  their  limbs  were 
growing  too  weak  to  support  them,  it  was  no  proof  that 
they  lacked  courage,  but  only  showed  how  nature  instinc- 
tively shrinks  from  inactively  meeting  the  grim  King  of 
Terrors.  To  perform  daring  and  valorous  feats  amid  the 
smoke  and  carnage  and  roaf  of  battle,  is  nothing ;  but  to 
march  slowly,  deliberately,  up  to  the  death-dealing  engines 
of  war,  while  a  breathless  silence  prevails,  which,  when 
next  broken,  may  be  the  signal  of  your  transit  to  another 
world,  will  try  the  nerves  of  the  hero  of  a  hundred  battles. 

When  about  seven  hundred  yards  divided  us  from  the 
advance  of  the  Mexicans,  they  opened  a  heavy  fire  from 
their  batteries  on  the  right.  The  moment  they  did  so, 
General  Taylor  spurred  his  charger  along  his  van,  gave 

27* 


318  CLARA   MOREL  AND. 


,  orders  to  have  it  deployed  into  line,  and  exhorted  the  men 
to  be  firm,  and  prove  themselves  true  descendants  of  the 
heroes  of  other  fields.  At  the  same  time  the  artillery  re- 
ceived instructions  to  return  the  enemy's  fire  ;  and  then  all 
minor  sounds  were  drowned  in  the  roar  of  these  mighty 
engines  of  death.     The  battle  had  truly  begun. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  describe  the  fierce  engage- 
ments of  the  eighth  and  ninth  of  May — the  battles  of 
Palo  Alto  and  Resaca  de  la  Palm.a.  Other  pens,  abler 
than  mine,  have  already  done  justice  to  the  gallant  spirits 
who  there  fought,  and  bled,  and  won  immortal  renown  in 
two  of  the  most  brilliant  victories  on  record ;  and  to  these 
vivid  descriptions  I  must  refer  all  who  may  be  curious  be- 
yond my  personal  adventures. 

Whfen  the  action  began,  the  Texas  Rangers,  with  a 
squadron  of  dragoons,  occupied  an  advanced  position  on 
the  right ;  but  soon  after  we  fell  back,  and  took  a  position 
on  the  extreme  right,  where  we  awaited  further  orders. 
We  were  not  long  kept  idle.  A  body  of  lancers  made  a 
demonstration  as  if  to  outflank  us  and  seize  our  batteries ; 
perceiving  which,  Walker  gave  the  command : 

"  Forward !  charge  !" 

Away  we  flew,  the  earth  trembling  under  us ;  and  soon 
friends  and  foes  were  mingled  in  fierce  and  bloody  action ; 
and  groans,  shouts,  curses,  the  clash  of  steel  and  report  of 
Sre-arms,  made  a  horrid  din. 

From  this  moment  we  knew  no  rest.  Char-ge  on  charge 
vvas  continually  made,  in  difi*erent  directions,  on  different 
parties,  till,  I  believe,  ere  the  day  was  won,  the  Rangers 
passed  over  every  portion  of  the  field.  I  saw  no  flinching ; 
ill  strove  to  be  first  upon  the  foe ;  and  valiantly  did  we  all 
do  our  duty.  But  none  could  outdo  our  gallant  Captain. 
He  was  everywhere  foremost;  and  when  I  saw  the  activity 
he  displayed,  the  power  and  rapidity  of  his  blows,  his 
daring,  and  his  unequalled  skill  in  horsemanship — while  his 


ON  THE  FIELD  OF   PALO  ALTO.  319 

thin  nostrils  seemed  to  expand  like  those  of  a  war-horse 
rushing  to  battle,  and  his  eyes,  lately  so  cold  and  dull, 
flashed  and  burned  with  fierce  enthusiasm — I  no  longer 
wondered  that  his  name  was  a  word  of  terror  to  his  foes. 

The  sun  was  drawing  near  the  verge  of  the  horizon, 
and  yet  the  battle  was  raging  as  fiercely  as  ever,  and  none 
could  say  on  whose  banner  victory  would  yet  perch.  Side 
by  side  Walter  and  I  had  charged  and  fought  unharmed, 
while  many  a  saddle  of  our  gallant  corps  had  been  vacated, 
and  more  than  one  horse  and  rider  had  fallen  to  rise  no 
more.  We  were  at  this  moment  pausing  on  the  left  wing 
of  our  army,  striving  to  get  a  view  of  the  enemy's  manoeu- 
vers  through  the  sulphurous  smoke,  that,  cloud-like,  rose  to 
the  very  heavens,  and  from  out  which  came  the  loud  thun- 
ders of  artillery,  the  sharp  rattle  of  musketry,  and  shouts, 
and  shrieks,  and  groans,  and  all  the  concomitant  sounds  of 
bloody  strife.  Suddenly  Walker  turned  in  his  saddle,  and 
pointing  to  a  small  body  of  horsemen,  barely  seen  manoeu- 
vering  on  the  enemy's  right,  cried : 

"  Yonder  is  Romano  Falcon  and  his  accursed  band 
of  Guerrillas.  We  must  annihilate  them !  Forward ! 
charge  !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  buried  the  rowels  in  his  own  high 
mettled  steed,  we  followed  his  example,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  earth  seemed  flying  under  us.  Away,  away  we 
Bped ;  and  in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  me  to  record  the 
fact,  we  were  bearing  down,  with  the  force  of  a  thundering 
avalanche,  straight  upon  the  foe.  He  saw  us  just  in  time  to 
meet  us  in  full  career  ;  and  we  came  together  with  a  terrible 
shock  ;  and  balls  whizzed,  steel  clashed,  and  men  like  de- 
mons strove  in  the  struggle  of  death. 

Suddenly  I  felt  my  horse  sinking  under  me,  and  I  made 
a  hasty  eftort  to  leap  from  his  back.  But  my  foot  became 
entangled  in  the  stirrup ;  and  ere  T  could  extricate  myself, 
the  animal  fell,  with  a  death-groai^,  and  rolled  heavily  upon 


320  CLARJ^    MORELAND. 

my  imprisoned  limb.  I  shrieked  with  a  pain  too  intense 
for  sensitive  nature  to  bear,  and  instantly  the  dark  night 
of  unconsciousness  closed  around  me. 

When  I  next  opened  my  eyes,  the  shades  of  coming 
night  were  stealing  over  the  earth,  and  objects  at  a  dis- 
tance were  fast  growing  dim  and  indistinct.  The  sounds 
of  strife  had  ceased — the  smoke  of  battle  was  clearing 
away — but  who  were  the  victors  ?  I  now  felt  the  most 
excruciating  pain  in  my  leg,  on  which  the  fallen  beast  still 
lay ;  and  this  pain,  darting  up  into  my  body,  seemed  at 
intervals  as  if  it  would  again  deprive  me  of  my  senses.  I 
made  an  eiffort  to  extricate  myself ;  but  oh !  pen  and 
tongue  are  inadequate  to  describe  the  terrible  agony  it 
caused  me  !  and  I  soon  fell  back  exhausted,  uttering  a 
deep,  heavy  groan. 

My  groan  had  an  echo ;  and  on  turning  my  head,  I 
perceived  near  me  a  dark  human  object.  After  two  or 
three  more  groans  from  this  object,  it  uttered  words  that 
thrilled  me : 

"  Water  !  water !  give  me  water  or  I  die  ?'* 

It  was  the  voice  that  thrilled — so  like — could  it  be  ?  I 
shuddered,  but  kept  my  eyes  riveted  upon  the  human 
mass. 

Presently  it  began  to  move — seemed  to  roll  together 
like  a  ball — then  slowly  rose  to  an  upright  posture  and 
staggered  toward  me. 

By  the  waning  light  I  now  had  a  fair  view  of  that  face. 
I  knew  it.  Ghastly,  bloody,  with  rolling  eyes  and  livid 
lips,  I  failed  not  to  recognise  it.  Great  God  of  Justice ! 
Thy  hand  was  here  in  awful  retribution !  My  blood 
seemed  to  curdle  in  my  veins,  as  I  gazed  upon  that  face, 
already  working  in  the  convulsions  of  death. 

It  was  the  face  of  Willard  Warncliff, 

"  We  meet  strangely  !"  said  I. 

"Ha!"  he  cried,  trying  to  steady  himself  and  fix  his 


ON  THE  FIELD  OF   PALO  ALTO.  321 

fading  sight  upon  my  face  :  "  I  should  know  that  voice  ! 
Yes  !  yes  ! — ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! — it  is  you  !"  he  cried,  with  a 
wild,  unearthly  laugh,  while  his  contorted  features  assumed 
a  demoniac  expression.  *'  It  is  you,  Henry  Walton ! 
Enough !  we  meet  thus  ;  but  not  to  part ;  death  claims  us 
both." 

He  drew  a  knife  as  he  spoke,  and,  with  a  howl  of 
mingled  rage  and  pain,  made  a  lunge  toward  me.  But 
death  had  too  firm  a  hold  upon  him — nature  was  too  much 
exhausted — and  he  fell  heavily  to  the  earth — his  head 
within  two  feet  of  mc.  At  first  I  thought  him  dead ;  but 
presently  he  gave  a  groan,  raised  his  face,  and  turned  its 
ghastly  visage  full  upon  me.  Oh  !  that  look !  that  awful 
look  !  I  shall  never  forget  it — would  to  Heaven  I  could ! 
His  strength,  what  little  remained,  was  now  failing  fast — 
he  saw  and  knew  I  was  beyond  his  feeble  reach — and 
slowly  grinding  his  teeth  together,  he  hissed  out  between 
them : 

"  Tou  triumph  yet .'" 

Then  grasping  convulsively  the  matted  grass,  he  slowly 
sunk  down  to  the  earth,  gave  one  long,  gurgling  gasp,  and 
expired.  Thus  did  I  witness  the  death  of  my  rival  and 
foe  ;  but  oh !  the  sensations  I  then  and  there  experienced 
none  may  know. 

I  now  made  another  effort  to  extricate  myself ;  but  find- 
ing I  could  not,  and  the  pain  excessive,  I  lay  back  upon 
the  earth,  and  for  the  next  hour  suffered,  both  physically 
and  mentally,  more  than  words  can  describe.  It  had  now 
become  quite  dark ;  no  living  soul  was  apparently  near 
me ;  and  the  thought  that  I  might  thus  be  left  to  pass  the 
night,  filled  me  with  horror. 

At  length  I  heard  voices,  and,  by  the  gleam  of  a  torch, 

beheld  some  half-a-dozen  figures  approaching  me.  Whether 

they  might  prove  friends  or  foes,  I  could  not  tell ;  but  I 

was  in  a  condition  to  feel  that  any  change  could  not  be  for 

21 


322  CLARA    MORELAND. 


the  worse,  even  though  it  were  death  itself;  and  I  called 
to  them  for  help.  Instantly  they  quickened  their  pace, 
and  came  up  to  me  on  a  run ;  and  judge  of  my  delight, 
■when  in  the  foremost  I  recognized  my  valued  friend, 
"Walter  Moreland  ! 

"  Alive  !"  he  fairly  shouted :  "alive!  thank  God,  Wal- 
ton, we  find  you  alive !  I  was  fearful  you  had  fallen  to 
rise  no  more.'* 

"  And  we  are  victorious,  then  ?"  said  I. 

"  We  have  won  the  field  to-day,  my  friend — a  glorious 
victory — hut  what  will  be  our  fate  to-morrow  none  can  say." 

Walter  had  seen  me  fall,  heard  my  shriek,  and,  the  battle 
over,  had  come  in  quest  of  me,  believing  he  should  find  only 
my  cold  remains ;  his  joy  therefore  may  be  imagined.  On 
removing  the  carcass  of  the  horse  from  my  leg,  it  was 
found  to  be  broken  above  the  knee — ^but  I  had  sustained 
no  other  serious  injury.  The  men  raised  me  carefully,  and 
bore  me  away;  but  ere  they  did  so,  I  pointed  to  the 
corpse  of  Warnclifi*,  and  said  to  Walter : 

"Look  there!" 

He  turned  over  the  dead  body,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
torch  recognized  the  features. 

"  Tis  well !"  he  said,  with  compressed  lips ;  and  then 
turned  away  with  a  slight  shudder  of  disgust. 

I  was  carried  to  the  train,  which  was  parked,  and  placed 
among  the  other  wounded,  to  wait  my  turn,  for  the  sur- 
geons were  all  busy.  I  will  not  describe  that  night  of  hor- 
rors. It  is  enough  to  say  that  I  suffered  as  much  in  sym- 
pathy for  the  poor  fellows  every  now  and  then  brought  in 
— (and  whose  shrieks  and  groans,  under  the  knife  or  saw 
of  the  men  of  science,  made  my  heart  ache) — as  for  myself. 

In  my  turn  my  wants  were  attended  to — my  broken  limb 
was  set  and  splintered — and  though  at  another  time  I 
might  have  thought  my  hurt  a  great  misfortune,  yet  when 
I  looked  unon  the  bleeding,  mangled  and  dying  beings  who 


"last  scene  of  all."  323 

surrounded  me,  I  felt  truly  grateful  to  God  that  I  had  been 
spared  such  awful  affliction  as  theirs. 

Notwithstanding  I  repeatedly  urged  Walter  to  leave  me, 
and  try  to  get  some  rest,  to  be  prepared  for  the  eventful 
morrow,  he  remained  up  with  me  a  great  portion  of  the 
night;  but  toward  morning  he  took  his  leave,  and  our 
parting  was  a  sad  one. 

The  next  day  the  wounded,  myself  among  the  number, 
were  sent  back  to  Point  Isabel,  where  we  remained  in 
anxious  suspense,  listening  to  the  booming  cannon,  which 
told  that  another  fearful  battle  was  raging.  Oh !  how 
tediously  and  anxiously  passed  the  hours,  till  the  welcome 
news  came  that  another  brilliant  victory  had  been  won, 
and  that  the  enemy,  totally  routed,  had  returned  to  Mata- 
moras.  Then  the  shouts  of  enthusiastic  joy  that  went  up, 
seemed  to  infuse  new  life  into  even  the  dying — for  more 
than  one  eye,  already  glazing  in  death,  was  seen  to  brighten 
at  the  glorious  intelligence. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


LAST 


Soon  after  my  return  to  Point  Isabel,  not  wishing  to 
remain  among  the  wounded,  I  rented  a  shanty  of  one  of 
the  sutlers,  and  had  myself  removed  into  more  quiet,  if 
not  more  comfortable  quarters.  I  also  procured  the  ser- 
vices of  a  black  fellow,  who,  though  by  no  means  a  second 
Tom,  attended  upon  me  faithfully,  and  did  all  that  lay  in 
his  power  to  render  himself  useful  to  me.  I  experienced 
much  pain  from  my  broken  limb,  and  was  at^times  vary 


324  CLARA  MORELAND. 


despondent;  but  when  I  reflected  Low  much  worse  it  might 
have  been,  and  recalled  the  awful  sufferings  I  had  seen 
others  undergo,  I  truly  felt  I  had  more  cause  for  rejoicing 
than  repining. 

But  what  had  become  of  my  friends  ?  what  was  their 
present  fate  ?  I  had  seen  nothing  of  Walter,  nor  heard  a 
word  from  him,  nor  of  him,  since  our  parting  on  the  battle- 
field of  Palo  Alto.  Had  he  been  wounded  or  killed  ?  I 
had  looked  anxiously  over  a  list  of  names  reported,  but 
his  was  not  among  them,  and  I  knew  not  what  to  think 
regarding  him.  And  Clara — dear  Clara — how  fared  it 
with  her  ?  and  with  her  father  and  Harley  ?  Were  they 
still  prisoners  in  Matamoras  ?  and  would  our  victories  give 
them  freedom  ?  or  serve  to  render  their  situation  more  dis- 
agreeable, not  to  say  desperate  ? 

Days  passed — weary  days — days  of  deep,  heart-felt 
anxiety :  nights  passed — lonely  nights — nights  of  feverish 
restlessness,  in  which  I  often  awoke  from  wild,  horrible 
dreams.  During  this  period  I  suffered  much,  bodily  and 
mentally ;  and  it  was  only,  as  I  have  said,  when  I  consid- 
ered how  much  I  had  to  be  thankful  for,  that  I  could  feel 
resigned  to  my  situation,  and  bear  the  attendant  ills  with- 
out a  murmur. 

One  day,  one  bright  and  beautiful  day,  toward  the  latter 
part  of  May,  as  I  was  half  reclining  on  my  rude  pallet, 
gasing  out  through  the  open  doorway  upon  the  sandy 
beach,  and  the  blue,  calm  waters  of  the  Gulf,  and  envying 
those  who  could  walk  abroad  and  enjoy  the  fresh  air  and 
glorious  sunshine,  my  servant  entered  hastily,  and  said : 

"  Sir — Mr.  Walton — dar's  two  gen'lemen  and  a  lady, 
sir,  'quiring  for  you  just  back  here,  and  dey're  coming  dis 
way,  sir." 

My  heart  seemed  to  leap  into  my  throat,  and  I  replied, 
with  great  agitation : 


f 


"last  scene  of  all."  325 

"  Show  them  in,  Peter !  show  them  in  !" 

"  Yes,  sir  !  I  thought  mebbj  you'd  just  like  to  fix  up 
a  little,  sir — they're  quite  'spectable  looking,  sir !" 

"  Never  mind — never  mind — there  is  no  time,  and  they 
must  take  things  as  they  find  them." 

Peter  hastened  out ;  and  immediately  after,  ITarley 
burst  into  the  room,  and  was  quickly  followed  by  Colonel 
Moreland  and  his  daughter.  The  moment  my  eyes  fell 
upon  them,  I  gave  vent  to  my  feelings  in  a  loud  cry  of  joy. 
Harley  was  the  first  to  reach  my  side ;  and  seizing  my 
hand,  while  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  that  he  seemed  strug- 
gling to  repress,  he  said,  in  a  voice  half  choked  with 
emotion  : 

"  Ah  !  Harry,  Harry,  was  it  kind,  was  it  like  yourself, 
to  leave  an  old  friend  thus  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  did  wrong,  Morton — but — " 

"  There,  there,  Mr.  Walton — that  will  do,"  interrupted 
the  Colonel,  seizing  my  other  hand,  and  speaking  in  a 
warm,  frank,  ofi*-hand  manner :  "let  Palo  Alto  say  the 
rest.  In  brief,  sir,  I  see  you  are  a  young  man  of  true 
spirit,  and  I  like  you  the  better  for  it — at  your  age  I 
would  have  done  the  same.     Come,  Clara,  what  say  you?" 

Clara  had  approached  timidly,  and  stood  behind  her 
father  while  he  was  speaking;  and  it  was  not  till  he 
stepped  aside,  as  he  appealed  to  her,  that  I  caught  a  fair 
view  of  her  features.  Her  lovely  face  was  now  crimson 
with  blushes,  and  she  seemed  greatly  confused  and  embar- 
rass*ed.  For  a  moment  her  soft  blue  eyes  rested  anxiously 
and  tenderly  upon  mine ;  and  then  a  tear  of  sympathy 
dimmed  her  vision,  and  her  gaze  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  I  trust  I  see  you  well,  Clara  ?  and  that  I  shall  find 
you  willing  to  forgive  me  for  deserting  my  best  friends  in 
the  manner:  I  did?" 

I  said  this  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  powerful  emotions ; 

28 


326  CLARA  MORELAND. 


and  as  I  ceased,  Clara  raised  her  eyes ;  and  thougli  still 
seeming  embarrassed,  replied,  in  low,  sweet  accents,  that 
fell  upon  my  ear  like  music  : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive  to  one  who  more  than  once 
perilled  his  life  to  save  mine."  And  then,  after  a  slight 
pause,  added :  "  If  you  really  did  wrong  in  leaving  your 
friends,  your  awful  sufferings  would  atone  for  far  greater 
errors.     I  hope  we  find  you  better — a — Mr.  Walton  ?" 

I  took  her  hand,  and  holding  it  in  mine,  with  a  gentle 
pressure,  looked  meaningly  into  her  sweet  face,  and,  with 
pointed  emphasis,  replied : 

"  I  am  better  now^  Clara."  Then  perceiving  she  was 
uncommonly  agitated,  I  turned  quickly  to  the  Colonel,  and 
exclaimed :  "  But  Walter — where  is  he  ?  I  hope  no  harm 
has  befallen  him !" 

"  Safe  and  well  in  Matamoras  with  the  army.  They 
say  he  fought  gallantly  through  both  actions — at  least 
Captain  Walker  so  reported  him  to  General  Taylor ;  and 
as  a  further  proof  that  he  did  something  worthy,  he  has 
been  offered,  and  has  accepted,  a  commission,  and  will 
remain  with  the  army.  He  sends  kind  greetings  to  you, 
and  regrets  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  see  you  again  for  the 
present — for  I  suppose  it  is  not  your  intention  to  enlist  ?". 

"No,"  said  I,  "I  have  seen  adventure  enough;  and  as 
soon  as  I  am  able,  shall  set  out  for  home— there  probably 
to  remain  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  But  I  am  glad  to  hear 
of  Walter^s  success,  and  can  sincerely  say  I  believe  he 
deserves  it.  But  now  tell  me  of  yourselves !  How  were 
you  treated  after  we  left  ?  and  how  did  you  procure  your 
liberty  ?" 

"  No  further  notice  was  taken  of  us,"  replied  the 
Colonel ;  "  and  when  Taylor  entered  the  city  as  victor,  we 
of  course  found  ourselves  free.  I  must  admit  we  had  suffered 
■«uch  anxiety  on  Walter's  account,  and  yours ;  and  great 


"the  last  scene  of  all."  327 


was  our  delight  to  meet  him  safe  and  unharmed;  and, 
need  I  add,  we  were  not  a  little  grieved  to  learn  of  your 
misfortune.     So  it  seems  our  old  foes  are  dead  at  last  ?" 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

«  D'Estang  and  Warncliff." 

"  Ha  !  D'Estang  dead  also  ?-" 

"Yes,  he  was  slain  on  the  battle-field  of  Resaca  de  la 
Palma — shot  by  Walker  himself,  as  he  was  bearing  down 
upon  the  Rangers  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  lancers :  Wqilter 
saw  him  fall." 

"  Well,  let  God  judge  him  !"  said  I. 

"  You  speak  of  going  home,*'  pursued  the  Colonel.  " May 
I  be  permitted  to  say  that  you  will  go  home  with  us  first?" 

"  I  may  do  myself  the  honor  to  call  upon  you  before  I 
start  for  Virginia — but  go  home  with  you  I  cannot." 

"And  why  not,  sir?" 

"  Because  I  shall  not  be  able  to  attempt  the  journey  for 
days — perhaps  weeks." 

*' Well,  we  can  wait  till  you  are  able." 

"  No,  no — I  could  not  think  of  detaining  you  from  your 
family." 

"Now  hold!"  cried  the  Colonel:  "not  another  word! 
I  am  a  man,  sir,  whose  purpose  is  not  easily  changed ;  and 
I  tell  you  I  have  decided  to  remain  in  Point  Isabel  till  you 
can  leave  it  with  us.  Why,  you  look  surprised !  Good 
heavens !  is  gratitude  then  so  scarce  an  article  that  you 
must  necessarily  be  astonished  because  we  have  resolved 
not  to  desert  the  noble  friend  who  perilled  his  all  to  save 
us  from  a  fate  worse  than  death  ?     Heaven  forbid  !" 

Tears  filled  my  eyes  as  the  Colonel  pronounced  these 
words,  for  I  perceived  they  came  from  his  heart.  I  had 
felt  lonely,  dejected,  desolate — but  I  felt  so  no  longer.  I 
had  found  a  warm-hearted,  true  friend  in  him,  whom,  of  all 
men,  I  most  desired  to  call  friend,  the  father  of  the  only 


328  CLARA  MORELAND. 


being  I  truly  loved.  And  Clara  would  remain  also,  and  be 
unto  me  as  a  ministering  angel !  Need  I  say  that  in  the 
present,  with  a  thought  of  the  future,  I  experienced  a 
happiness  that  amply  compensated  for  all  the  perils, 
privations,  and  sufferings  I  had  undergone  ? 

But  Harley — my  companion — my  more  than  brother — 
there  was  no  necessity  that  he  should  remain  through  the 
tedium  of  my  confinement ;  and  I  urged  him  to  go  whither 
love  and  duty  called  him.  He  had  done  for  me,  I  told 
him,  all  that  a  noble  friend  could  do ;  and  were  there  even 
more  to  do,  he  had  a  young,  tender,  and  lovely  wife,  whose 
claims  on  him  were  paramount  to  all  others. 

He  grasped  my  hand,  and  in  a  voice  of  deep  emotion, 
replied : 

"  Perhaps  what  you  say  is  right,  Harry.  That  I  love 
my  dear  Viola,  you  know ;  and  you  know  how  well  I  love 
her ;  and  you  know,  too,  if  she  deserves  my  love.  And 
you  can  imagine  the  lonely  hours  of  agonizing  suspense 
she  must  pass  in  my  absence,  under  the  soul-harrowing  un- 
certainty whether  I  am  among  the  living  or  the  dead  !  I 
need  not  tell  you  how  I  long  to  see  her — to  relieve  her  of 
her  mental  torture — to  clasp  her  once  more  to  this  heart 
that  beats  truly  for  her.  But  notwithstanding  all  this,  I 
could  not  face  her  and  say  I  had  left  you  in  distress,  in  the 
hands  of  strangers ;  no,  no,  I  could  not  do  that ;  and  were 
it  not  that  I  know  my  place  will  more  than  be  supplied  by 
the  kind  friends  who  will  remain  with  you,  dear  Harry,  no 
persuasion  should  induce  me  to  leave  you.  But  since  my 
presence  here  is  not  needed,  I  will  take  your  advice,  and 
set  out  for  Mexico  the  first  opportunity — for  part  we  must, 
sooner  or  later." 

The  day  passed  off  happily  in  the  companionship  of  my 
friends ;  but  it  was  the  last  I  was  destined  to  spend  with 
Harley — at  least  for  many  long  years — ai|d  it  may  be  we 


THE   LAST   SCENE  OF  ALL.  32  "i%. 


ehall  never  meet  again.  The  next  day,  unexpectedly,  a 
vessel  touched  at  Point  Isabel,  which  he  learned  would 
touch  at  Vera  Cruz  ;  and  with  a  hurried,  but  tearful  fare- 
well, he  took  leave  of  us,  and  embarked. 

"While  on  this  subject,  I  may  add,  that  though  I  have 
never  seen  him  since,  I  have  frequently  heard  from  him  by 
letter.  lie  reached  the  city  of  Mexico  safe  and  well,  and 
rejoined  his  lovely  wife,  who  had  begun  to  despair  of  ever 
Beeing  him  again.  In  his  last  communication  to  me,  of  a 
recent  date,  he  speaks  of  returning  to  the  land  of  his  na- 
tivity, with  his  family,  to  lay  his  bones  with  those  of  his 
fathers.  Should  he  return,  we  may  meet  once  more  to  go 
over,  by  the  quiet  hearth-side,  the  perilous  scenes  of  the 
past.  But  that  meeting  belongeth  to  the  Future,  and  of 
the  Future  God  alone  knoweth. 

And  here  let  me  drop  the  veil  for  a  time,  to  lift  it  once 
more,  and  then  let  it  fall  forever. 

*jC  3|C  TfC  3|C  3)C  3|C 

It  was  on  a  scorching  mid-summer's  day  that  we  reached 
the  quiet  home  of  the  Morelands.  I  pass  over  the  scene 
that  ensued,  when  a  long  lost  daughter  and  father  were 
first  restored  to  a  weeping  mother  and  sister.  We  came 
not  unexpectedly  upon  them,  however.  The  Colonel 
had  many  times  written  home,  apprising  his  wife  and 
daughter  of  his  and  Clara's  safety,  and  had  acquainted 
them  also  with  the  thrilling  events  already  known  to  the 
reader ;  but  there  was  much  still  to  be  told,  and  a  thou- 
B:ind  questions  to  be  asked  and  answered  on  both  sides. 
Then  the  news  having  spread  of  the  Colonel's  safe  return 
with  his  daughter,  crowds  of  anxious  friends,  eager  ques- 
tioners, and  wondering  listeners  thronged  the  mansion;  and 
for  a  time  we  were  literally  besieged — till,  in  fact,  I  began 
to  think  the  horrors  of  battle  a  pleasant  pastime  compared 
to  this  inquisitive  torture.     Among  all  my  follies,  I  never 

28* 


330  CLARA  MORELAND. 

liad  an^p-desire  to  be  made  a  lion  ;  but  I  was  now,  in  spite 
of  myself,  elevated  to  that  disagreeable  position;  and  in 
my  private  journal  I  have  recorded  the  fact  under  the  head 
of  "  Awful  Sufferings."  I  should  perhaps  remark  here, 
en  passant,  that  I  had  at  this  .time  so  far  recovered  the  use 
of  my  broken  limb  as  to  be  able  to  walk  without  crutches 
— but  there  was  a  slight  limp  in  my  gait,  which  remained 
for  weeks  afterward. 

Mrs.  Moreland  and  Mary,  I  perceived,  showed  marked 
traces  of  the  anxiety  they  had  undergone,  and  the  latter 
continued  for  some  days  quite  serious;  but  her  natural 
gaiety  and  vivaciousness  at  length  returned;  and  her 
clear,  merry  laugh  once  more  rung  through  the  recent 
abode  of  sorrow  and  gloom.  There  seemed  but  one  thing 
wanting  now  to  complete  the  happiness  of  all  parties — the 
presence  of  Walter.  But  though  he  was  missed  by  all 
from  the  social  circle,  none  took  his  absence  so  deeply  to 
heart  as  his  doating  mother.  He  had  recently  passed 
through  great  perils — and,  as  a  soldier,  would  continually 
be  exposed  to  new  dangers — and  she  longed,  with  maternal 
fondness,  to  see  him  once  more — for  she  had  withal  a 
presentiment  that  he  would  never  return. 

Alas  !  it  is  with  deep,  heartfelt  sorrow  I  now  record  the 
mournful  fact,  that  her  presentiment  was  verified.  He 
fell  on  the  glorious  battle-field  of  Buena  Vista,  and  now 
sleeps  in  a  soldier's  grave.  Poor  Walter  !  these  eyes  have 
paid  many  a  sad  tribute  to  his  memory. 

Although  the  Colonel  and  I  had  been  much  alone 
together,  during  my  confinement  at  Point  Isabel,  and  also 
OR  our  journey  homeward ;  and  though  I  had  often  been 
on  the  point  of  asking  of  him  the  dearest  boon  in  his  power 
to  grant,  the  hand  of  his  lovely  daughter ;  yet,  somehow, 
when  the  most  favorable  moment  had  come,  my  heart  had 
always  failed  me — the  vrords  I  struggled  to  utter  had  died 


"THE  LAST  SCENE  OF  ALL.  331 

upon  my  lips — and  the  important  question  still  remained 
unpropounded.  More  than  once,  I  think,  he  must  have 
been  aware  of  my  intention ;  but  it  was  not,  for  him  to 
introduce  the  subject,  and  I  did  not  for  the  reasons  named. 
But  now  the  time  had  come  for  me  to  "  speak,  or  for  ever 
hold  ray  peace;"  and  summoning  all  my  resolution,  I 
prepared  myself,  as  well  as  I  could,  for  the  trying  event. 
Seeing  him  enter  the  library  one  morning,  with  a  paper  in 
his  hand,  I  soon  followed  him,  and  closed  the  door.  He 
looked  up  from  his  reading,  and  seeing  that  I  was  unu- 
sually agitated,  kindly  requested  me  to  be  seated.  I  half 
staggered  to  a  chair,  but  did  not  sit  down. 

"Colonel  Moreland,"  began  I — and  methought  my  voice 
sounded  strangely,  my  heart  fairly  fluttered,  and  I  was 
half  startled  ut  my  own  boldness — "  I — I  have  come — to 
— to  ask  a  boon,"  I  stammered. 

"It  must  be  a  great  one  that  I  will  not  grant  to  one  to 
whom  I  owe  so  much,"  he  replied,  with  a  bland,  encou- 
raging smile. 

"  It  is,  Colonel-rit  is." 

"  Say  on !" 

"  I  seek  the  hand  of  your  daughter." 

Good  heavens  !  the  words  were  out  before  I  knew  it. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  at  the  same  time 
rising  from  his  seat:  "  I  will  send  you  an  answer  directly ;" 
and  he  went  out,  leaving  me  standing  half  bewildered,  and 
not  knowing  what  to  think  of  his  singular  proceeding. 

I  was  not  long  kept  in  suspense,  however.  Presently 
the  door,  which  was  partly  ajar,  swung  quickly  open,  and 
Clara  entered  in  haste,  her  features  pale,  and  wearing  an 
expression  of  alarm. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Henry  ?"  she  cried,  anxiously. 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of — why  do  you  ask  V 

"  Why,  I  just  now  met  father,  who  said  I  should  find 


332  CLARA  MOREL  AND. 


you  here,  and  that  there  was  something  very  serious  the 
matter  with  you." 

"  Only  an  affection  of  the  heart,  I  believe,"  replied  I, 
smiling  at  the  Colonel's  joke. 

Instantly  Clara's  recently  pale  features  were  suffused 
with  the  deepest  crimson,  and  her  eyes  fell  to  the  ground 
in  confusion.  I  advanced  to  her,  took  her  trembling  hand, 
and  continued,  gravely,  in  a  low  tone : 

"  This  hand,  dear  Clara,  I  just  now  ventured  to  ask  of 
your  worthy  father.  He  immediately  left  me,  saying  he 
would  send  me  an  answer.  He  has  sent  me  you,  and  I  am- 
answered  to  my  wish.  With  his  consent  to  our  union,  dear 
Clara,  I  need  but  one  other's  to  make  me  the  happiest  of 
mortals:  Will  you  be  mine?" 

She  did  not  reply  in  words  ;  but  she  trembled  violently, 
her  head  drooped  gently,  and  methought  the  crimson  of 
her  cheeks  took  a  deeper  hue. 

"  Thus  am  I  a  second  time  answered,"  I  whispered;  and 
gently  throwing  an  arm  around  her,  I  drew  her  fondly  to 
me,  and  was  about  to  imprint  the  seal  of  love  upon  her 
lips,  when  I  chanced  to  espy  a  pair  of  sparkling  black 
eyes  peering  at  us  from  around  the  half  open  door. 

"  Good  faith !  is  that  the  way  you  lovers  settle  the 
mooted  point  ?"  cried  the  mischievous  Mary,  the  moment 
she  saw  she  was  detected,  at  the  same  time  bursting  into 
the  apartment,  with  her  merry,  ringing  laugh. 

Clara  sprung  from  my  side,  and  disappeared  in  an 
instant. 

"  Heigh-ho !"  said  Mary,  looking  after  her,  with  an 
affected  sigh :  "  how  much  she  has  lost  by  my  interrup- 
tion !"  and  again  her  laugh  rung  out,  merry  and  clear. 
"  Well,  well,  Mr.  Walton,  (looking  up  demurely  into  my 
bljishing  face)  you  needn't  get  the  scarlet  fever  on  account 
of  it.    So,  sir,  you  did  sing,  ^  Come  share  My  Cottage,'  to 


333 


Bome  purpose  it  seems.  Ah  !  well,  it  only  proves  that  Clara 
■vyas  easily  caught — you  should  have  tried  wg." 

"  And  you  will  be  caught  some  fine  day,  my  little  tor- 
ment," returned  I,  laughing. 

"  It  may  be,"  she  answered,  slowly,  and  with  a  mis- 
chievous twinkle  of  her  black  eyes — "  but  ^ot  with  senti- 
mental cliaff  y'  and  without  giving  me  time  to  reply,  she 
bounded  away,  in  high  glee ;  and  soon  after  I  heard  her 
gayly  singing : 

"  Hymenial  chains  let  who  will  wear- 
No  bonds  for  me ; 
The  eagle  in  the  upper  air 
Shall  be  less  free  : 
From  melancholy 
Heights  of  folly, 
Let  me  delivered  be  I" 

A  week  later,  and  with  a  joyous  heart  I  was  speeding 
over  the  briny  waters  of  the  Gulf,  bound  for  my  native 
land.  But  I  was  not  alone.  There  was  beside  me  a  gentle 
being,  whom  I  had  sworn,  before  High  Heaven,  to  love, 
cherish  and  protect ;  and  in  her  soft,  blue  eyes,  as  ever  and 
anon  they  turned  upon  me,  beaming  with  tenderness,  I 
could  read  that  my  happiness  was  now  shared  by  one  who 
had  been  a  sharer  in  my  perils  and  sufferings.  Clara 
Moreland  was  mine  forever.  . 

In  due  course  of  time  we  reached  Virginia,  and  found 
warm  friends  ready  to  give  us  a  reception  worthy  of  the 
Old  Dominion, — need  I  say  more  ? 

***** 

Years  have  passed  since  the  date  of  the  foregoing  events, 
and  to  me  they  have  been  years  of  unalloyed  happiness. 
The  holy  tie  which  first  bound  Clara  and  me  together,  waxes 
stronger  with  time,  and  our  love  daily  grows  even  deeper 


334  CLARA    MORELAND. 


and  piirer.     The  parents  of  Clara  are  still  living,  and  in^he 

enjoyment  of  health  and  prosperity.     The  light-hearted 

Mary  is  still  with  them ;  but  I  understand  they  are  about 

to   lose   her.     She  is  about  to  enter  into  that  bondage 

against  which  she  once  so  merrily  declaimed ;  but  he  who 

will  cast  around  her  the  "  Hymenial  chain,"  is  worthy  of 

his  prize. 

***** 

Reader !  my  adventures,  I  trust,  are  ended — my  tale  is 
told — my  task  is  done.  What  more  belongeth  to  me  and 
mine,  lieth  in  the  great  Future;  but  ere  I  enter  that 
untrodden  realm,  I  close  the  scene,  and  pass  forever /from 
your  ken.    Adieu ! 


''iJt.^tAJ/  a<f^^ 


THK   SHD* 


T.  B.  mmm  m  of  puBiitiTJOfis 


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Vivla  ;  or,  The  Secret 

of  Power,  -  -  1  00 
India.      The  Pearl  of 

Pearl  Rirer,  -  -  1  00 
The  MiBsing  Bride,  •  1  00 
The  Lo8t  Heiress,  -  1  00 
Denerted  Wife,  -  .  1  00 
Wife's  Victory.  -  •  1  00 
Curse  of  Cliflon.  -  1  00 
Discarded  Daughter,  -  1  00 
Retribution,  -  -  1  00 
Initial!,  -  -  -  1  W 
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ME8.  HENTZ'S  WORKS. 

The  Plauter'b  Northern 

Bride,  -  -  -  1  00 
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Kobert  Graham,  -  1  00 
Courtship  and  Marriage  1  00 
Bena  ;  or  the  Snow  Bird  1  00 
Marcus  Warland,  -  1  00 
Love  after  Marriage,  -  1  00 
Bollne,  -  -  -  1  00 
The  Banished  Son,  -  1  00 
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Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Baf?,l  00 
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BLLEN   PICKERING'S. 

Orphan  N'iece.      -        -  25 

Kate  Wal.singhaca,     •  25 

Poor  Cousin.        -        -  25 

Ellen  War«>hain,      «  •  25 

Who  Shall  be  Heir  1  •  2:. 

BoCTot  Foe,           -  25 

Expectant^           •  2.'> 

fright,         -       -  25 

iulet  II  usband.  -  25 

Nan  DRrrvl',                -  25 

Prince  and  Pfd'ar,     -  25 

Merchant's  Daughter,  2:> 

TheHquire,         -       -  25 
Agnes  Serle, 
The  Heiress, 


CHARLES  LEVER'S. 

Charles  O'Malley,       -        50 

Knight  of  Gwynne,    -        60 

Arthur  (^Leary,  -        50 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  -        50 

Jack  Hinton,       -        •        60 

Harry  Lorrequer,       -        60 

Horace  Templeton,     •        60 

Kate  O'Donoghue,      -        50 

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Ton  Thousand  a  Year,    1.00 

Valentine    Vox,    the 

Ventriloquist,  -  60 
The  Siater.s,  -  -  60 
The  Steward,  -  -  60 
Percy  Effingham,       -       60 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS'. 

The  Three  Guardsmen,  75 
Twenty  Years  After,  -  75 
Bragelonne,  -  .  75 
The  Iron  Hand,  -        60 

Forty-Five  Guardsmen,  75 
Memoirs  of  a  Marquis,  1  00 
Andree  de  Tavern  ey,  -  1  00 
Countess  of  Charny,  -  1  00 
The  Iron  Mask,  -    1  00 

Louise  La  Valliere,  •  1  00 
Memoirs  of  a  Physician,  1  00 
Queen's  Necklace,  -  1  00 
Diana  of  Mcridor,  •  1  00 
Si.x  Years  Later,  •    1  00 

Felina  deChambnre,  60 
Genevieve,  -        -        60 

Sketches  in  Franco,  •  60 
Isabel  of  Bavaria,  -  60 
Edmond  Dantes,  •  50 
Corsican  Brothers,      -        25 

LIPPARD'S  WORKS. 

Washin^n  &  Generals,  I  00 
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Blanche  of  Brandywine,  1  00 
e  Naxarene,  -  -  60 
_  nds  of  Mexico,  •  25 
L*lye  of  AlUrone,    •    1  00 


CHARLES  DICKENS'. 

David  Copperfleld,       -        50 

Dombey  and  Son,        -        60 

Nicholas  Nickleby,      -        50 

Pickwick  Papers,        •        60 

Christmas  Stories,      -        60 

Martin  Chuzzlewit,    •        50 

Barnaby  Kudge,  •        60 

Dickens'  New  Stories,         60 

Bleak  House,  -        60 

Old  Curiosity  Shop,    -        60 

Sketches  by  '*  Boz,"    -        60 

Oliver  Twist,        -        -        50 

A  complete  sett  of  the  above 

will  be  sold  for  $5;  alsoi, 

bound  in  five  vols.,  black 

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cloth,  for  $8.50.     Law  I^i- 

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Illustrated  edition  is  $1.00 

a  volume,  or  $18  for  the 

complete  sett  of  12  volumes. 

FRANK    FAIRLEGH'S. 

Frank  Fairlegh,  -        60 

Lewis  Arundel,  -        75 

Harry  Coverdale's  Court- 
ship,       -       -       -    1  00 
Lorrimer  Littlegood,      1  00 
Fortunes    and    Misfor- 
tunes of  Harry  Kack- 
ett  Scapegrace,        -       60 

BOOKS  OF  FUN. 

Major  Jones'  Courtship 
and  Travels.     Cloth,  1  28 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures 
and  Travels.    Cloth,  1  2A 

Major  Jones'  Scenes  in 
Georgia.     Cloth,     -    1  25 

Humors  of  Falcoubridgil  00 

Frank  Forester's  Sport- 
ing Scenes  and  Cha- 
racter.'. 2  vols.,  cloth,  2  50 

Dow's  Patent  Sermons. 
By  Dow,  Jr.  3  vois., 
ea'ch,  ...      7a 

Piney  Woods  Tavern,    1  0$ 

Adventures  of  CapUiln 
Priest,     ...       71 

▲merlcm  Joe  lOllcr,       II 


HDMOaOTJS  WOn^S. 

Bfi/lOnU'LI  Y   ILUJMTKVTiJ). 

Majur  .Pnn«'fi'  Coiirt.jhip.  iiC 
Major  JoiK-s'  SkelvLts 

^TrnT-l,  .  .  50 
SLraou  Si]gK>^'  AdTeulnre4,.jO 
liliJ'r.I'>rio?'Clir«uici«!fl 

irf  Pinevitle.  •  •  60 
IN  IIt        iVabloffiotn's 

VVediUn^.         -        -  £0 

IT ;  low  !lu«hy'?  UnsVand,  ?0 

..  ilfar  of  Aikaiisns,  f)0 

Bli-'akacf  Squatter  Life,  50 

Jtckia)?H  fi  oui  Piciyuuej  60 
Utriij  Siibi.'ptH  arrf8ted 

Aiid  l',ouii.l  Over.     •  50 

7<ouisi(ioa  t^witinn  Doctor,  50 

Cbiir  x>.hI  ?keifJie(<,     -  50 
Mi  •ifortuDiisof  iV'ter  Fal)er,;'0 

P.'r«r  I'lxl-ly,      -        -  i'O 

THnkPeainoaK  Mermaids,  TjO 

N'e-w  Orleans  .Sketch  Hook,  50 

Drama  In  Pokervi'le,  -  50 

The  Charms  of  Paris,-  5ii 

Tlie  Quorndon  Hounds,  60 

Mv  Shooting  Box,      -  60 

NVarwick  Woodlands,  60 

The  Deer  Stalkers,     -  60 
Adventures  of  Captain 

Fnrrairo,           -        •  50 
Major  6'Regan'a   Ad- 
ventures,         -        -  50 
Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical 

Apprenticeship,  -  50 
Sol.  Smith's  Theafrica) 

Journey-Work,        -  50 

Quarter  Race  Kentucky,  60 

Rival  Belles,        -        -  50 

Life  of  Col.  Vanderbomb,  50 
Life  and  Adventures  of 

Percival  May  berry,  50 
Yankee     Yarns     and 

Yankee  Letters,       -  50 

MBS.  GEEY'S. 

Qipsey's  Daughter,      -  25 

Jjena  Cameron,  -  25 

BelM  of  the  Family,   -  25 

Sybil  Lennard,  -  25 

Duke  and  Cousin,       -  25 

The  Little  Wife,  -  25 

Manoeuvring  Mother,  25 

Baronet's  Daughters,  -  25 

Young  Prima  Donna,  25 

Old  DoTfer  House,       ■  25 

Hyacinthe,  -        -  25 

Alice  Seymour,  -        •  25 

Mary  j^eaham,    -        -  50 

Passion  and  Principle,  50 

P'lSBAELI'S  WOaSS. 

Henrie'tft  Temple,  -  60 

ViTian  <Jr«y,       -  -  50 

Venetia,  -  .  60 

Youijg  Duke  -  38 

MLriam  Alroy,    -  -  S-f 

Ck.atarini  Fleming  •  88 

LANGUAGES. 
F^r^h  without  a  Master,  25 
Hpauiuh  without  a  Master,  25 
0«rman  without  a  Master,  25 
Italian  without  a  Master,  25 
UUn  witb^ut,  a  plaster,    25 


REY2T0LBS'  WOIIZS. 

MysteriPH  <>f  the  Court 

of  Lou.lon.    2  voU.,  1  00 

Rosf  F..SI.T.     S  vol.-*.,  1  ,')0 

('Hr<)Iiue.>tBrnn.-«wick.  1  00 

Vonetia  Trt-lnwuey,  -  )  Oi) 

Lord  SivxnriHaio,         -  1  00 

Count  Cliiistnval,       -  1  00 

Rosa  Lambert,            -  1  00 

Mary  Price,        -        -  1  00 

Fiustace  Quentin,        -  1  00 

Joseph  Wilmut,          -  1  00 

Banker's  Dinghter,  -  1  00 

Kenneth,    -        -        -  1  0^) 

The  Rye-Honse  Piol,  1  00 

Isabella  Vincent,        -  60 

Vivian  Bertram,         -  60 

Couutehs  of  Lascelles,  .'iO 

Duke  of  Marchmoui,  -  60 

The  N(!cromancor,       -  7-i 

The  Soldier's  Wife,    -  60 

May  Middleton,           -  60 

Jla.snacre  of  (ilencoe,  -  60 

The  Court  of  J^aples,  60 

Loves  of  the  Harem,  -  60 

Ellen  Percy,        -        -  60 

Aj,'ues  Evelyn,    -        -  60 

Edgar  Montrose,         -  ti'> 

Parricide.             -        -  50 

Life  in  Paris,       -        -  50 

CAPT.  MARSYATT'8. 

Jacob  Faithful,  -        -  25 

Japhet  Search  of  Father,  2.5 

Phantom  Ship,    -        -  25 

Mid.ihipman  Easy,      -  25 

Pacha  of  Many  Talcs,  25 

Naval  Officer,      -        -  2.'> 

Snarleyow,  -        -  25 

Newton  Foster,   •        •  25 

King's  Own,        -        -  25 

Pirate  &  Three  Cutters,  25 

Peter  Simple,      -        .  50 

Percival  Keene,  -  50 

Poor  Jack,  -       -  50 

Sea  King,  -        -  60 

Valerie,  -       -  5C 

AINSWOSTH'S. 

Jack  Sheppard,  -  50 

Tower  of  London,      -    1  00 

Guy  Fawkes,       -        -  50 

The  Star  Chamber,     •  50 

Newgate  Calendar,     •  50 

Old  St.  Paul's,  -  -  50 
Mysteries  of  the  Court 

of  Queen  Anne,  50 
Mysteries  ot  the  Court 

of  the  St  uarts,  50 

Life  of  Davy  Cronkett,  50 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas,  25 

Dick  Turpi  n.       -        -  2.') 

Desperadoes  New  World,  25 

Ninon  De  L'Knclos.    -  25 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring,  25 

Life  of  Grace  O'Malley,  88 

Windsor  Castle,  -  60 

GREEN  ON  GAMBLING 

Gambling  Expo.sed,  -  1  00 
Gambling  Unma«ked,  1  00 
Secret  Band  of  Brothers,  1  00 
Tke  Reformed  Gambler,  1  00 
Abue  in  cl£th^fl^2S  eftoh. 


I       HIGHWAYMEN. 

Life  of  John  A.  Mnrrel, 
I  Life  of  J<tsepli  T.  Hare, 
I  Life  of  Monro*' Edward*, 
j  Life  of  Helen  JeweM, 

Life  of  Jack  Rucu,     • 
I  Kit  Clayton,  ,    - 

Lives  of  the  Felons    - 

Tom  Waters, 

N;it  Blake, 

Bill  Horton, 

Galloping  Ous,   - 

Ned  H;t.«tiugH,     - 

Biddy  Woodbull, 

Eveleea  Wilson, 

Diary  of  a  Pawnbroier, 

Silver  and  Pewter,     - 

Sweeney  Todd,  - 


2S 


20 


TALES  OF  THE  SEA. 

Adventures  of  Ben  Brace,  50 
Jack  Adaui.stho  Mutineer  50 

The  Spillire,        -        -  50 

The  Petrel,         .        .  00 

The  Pirate  s  Son,        -  25 

The  Doomed  Ship,     -  25 

The  Three  Pirale.s,     -  25 

The  Flying  Dutchman,  25 

Life  of  A.exanderTaray,  25 

The  Flying  Yankee,  -  25 

The  Yankee  Middy,   -  26 

Tlie  Gold  Seekers,       -  25 

The  River  Pirates,      -  25 

Dark  Shades  of  City  Life,  25 

The  Rats  of  the  Seine,  25 

Yankees  in  Japan,      -  25 

Red  King,  -        -        -  26 

Morgan,  the  Buccaneer,  25 

Jack  Junk,         -       -  25 

Davis,  the  Pirate,-      -  25 

Valdez,  the  Pirate,    -  25 

Jack  Ariel,  -        -  25 

Gallant  Tom,      -        -  23 

Yankee  Jack,     -        -  25 

Harry  Helm,      •        -  25 

Harry  Tempest,         -  25 

REVOLUTION  lALES. 
Seven  Bros,  of  Wyo/vilng,  25 
The  Brigand.  -  -  25 
The  Rebel  Bride,  -  26 
Ralph  Runuion,  *        25 

The  Flying  Artilleri**,  25 
Old  Put,  -  -  -  25 
Wau-nan-gee,  -  -  2* 
The  Guerilla  Co lef,    -       M 

MAITLAND'S  WGRKt. 
The  Watchman,  -  1  9» 
The  Wanderer,  -  -  1  'J* 
Diary  of  aa  Old  Doctor,  1  00 
The  Lawyer's  Story,  -  1  W 
Above  in  cloth,  $l.yi  eMk. 

EUGENE  BUS'S, 
Martin,  the  Fouadliag,  1  W 
Wandering  Jew,         -    1  tO 
Mysteries  of  Paris,     •    1  00 
First  Love,  -        •        25 

Woman's  Love,  •  •  2i 
Man  of-War'H-Man,  •  36 
Femalo  Bluebeard,     •       2f 


T.  B.  mfM  &  BilOTiiOS^mCATIflXS. 

The  Books  in  this  CatalogTio  a-e  the  Best  and  Latest  Publications  by 

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Advertised,  Published,  or  Noticed  by  any  one  at  all,  in  any  place,  will 

be  sent  by  us.  Free  of  Postage,  on  the  receipt  of  the  Price. 


MRS.    SOUTIIWORTII'S  WORKS. 


THe  Two  SlHtcr8.  This  is  MrH. 
8«>aU}w">nb'8  last  new  work.  Two 
▼ol».,  j»ap«r  cover.  Price  ♦1.00;  or 
bound  in  one  volame,  i  oih,  for  (1.25. 

Tlie  Three  Beauties.  Complete 
in  two  ToluQieH,  J  ai»er  cover.  Price 
One  DolUr  ;  or  bound  in  one  volume, 
cloth,  for  $1.25. 

VlirlA.    The  Secret  of  Power. 

Two  Tolnm*>«,  paper  cover.     Price  One 
Dollar ;  or  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

India.  The  Pearl  of  PenrI 
River.  Two  vols., paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar  ;  or  bound  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  "Wife's  Victory.  Two  vol- 
umeH,  pap<ir  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ; 
or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Lost  Heiress.    Twovolnroen, 

Saper   cover.     Price  One   Dollar ;    or 
ouud  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The   VHualng   Bride.     Two   vol- 
nmefi,  paper  cover.     Price  One  Dollar; 
or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 
The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  published  in  very  fine  style,  bound  in  full  Crimeoo, 
fUt  edges,  eides,  backs,  etc.,  making  elegant  presentation  books.     Priee  $2.00  a  copy 
JAS.    A.  MAITLAND'S    GREAT    WORKS. 

Tolniues,  paper  cover.     Price  One  Dol- 
lar ;  or  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1  25. 
The  Diary  of  an  Old  Doctor. 
Complete  in  two  vols.,  paper  cover 
Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.26 


R«trlbn<ion:    A  Tale  of  Pas- 

tiiou.     Two  vols.,  paper  cover.    Pries 

One  Dollar  ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Curse  of  Clifton.  Twovols., 

Eaper    cover.     Price   One    Dollar ;   or 
ound  in  oue  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Discarded  Daughter 
Two  volaiueH,  pa})er  cover.  I'rice  ()n9 
Dollar ;  or  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

The  Deserted  "Wife.  Twovols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or 
bound  in  oue  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Belle  of  W^ashlnj^ion. 
Two  volume*,  paper  cover.  Price  On« 
Dollar;  or  in  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Initials.  A  Liove  Story  of 
Modern  Life.  Two  vol h.,  paper 
cover.  Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  one  volume 
cloth,  $1.2.-). 

The  Dead  Secret.  Twovjinmesj 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  o; 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25 

Kate  Aylesford.  Two  volumes, 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 


6«rtaroe.     A  Tale  of  Norway. 

Highly  recommended  by  Washinffton 
Irviujr  Complete  lu  two  volumes,  pa- 
per cover  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  bound 
in  oue  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 


The  "Watchman.  Complete  in  two 
Urge  vo:^  ,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Wanderer.  Complete  in  two 
W.   H 

■  torica  of  W^aterloo. 


The    L4a\^'yer's    Story  j   or,  Ins 

Orphan's  Wrongs.  Two  vols..  pajMi 
cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or  tH>iiJid  \m 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.26. 

MAXWELL'S    WOKS. 
Oueof  the  i  Brian  O'Lynn  ;  or.  Luck  ts  BTtry 


be«\  books  in  the   Knglish  langnage-  I      thing.     Price  60  cenU. 

Complete  in  one  laii,e  octave  volume,     ^^nd    Sports    in     the    Waat< 

rrics  Fifty  cenis  |      One  voloiwe.    P-icefiOcenU. 

m 


T.  K  PETEESON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    3 


MRS.  CAROLINE.    LEE    HENTZ'S    A\'ORltS. 


Tlie  Lost  Daitfcliler)  and  Other 
Slor1t»R  of  the  Heart.  (Just  published.) 
Two  Tolumes,  paper  covor.  Price  One 
Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.23. 

^Iant«r*8  Northern  Brttle. 
ReautirnllylllnHtrated.   Two  volnmes, 

Eapcr  cover,  600  pages.    Price  One  Dol- 
ir ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  'or  $1.25. 
%lnda.    The   Youne  Pilot  of 
the  Belle  Creole.  Two  volumes, 
paper  cover.      Price  One  Dollar;  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Aobert  Graham.  The  Sequel  to, 
and  Continuation  of  Linda.   Two  vols.j 

Saper  cover.     Price  One  Dollar ;   or 
ound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 
Courtship  and  Marrlag^e.  Two 
volumes,  paper  cover.    Price  One  Dol- 
lar ;  or  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.2;5. 


Rena;    or,    The     Sno^v    Bird. 

Two  voIh,  paper  cover.  Price  On«  D«»l4 
lar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Marcus  AVarland.  Two  voltuadH, 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  w 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  11  26. 

Love  after  Marriage.  Two  vol*., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  oi 
bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Eollne;    or,    Magnolln    V«le« 

Two  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  Op* 
Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Banished  Son.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  or 
bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Helen  and  Arthur.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ;  ot 
bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth,  for  $].2;j. 


The  whole  of  the  above  are  also  published  In  a  very  fine  style,  bound  in  full 
Crimson,  with  gilt  edges,  full  gilt  sides,  gilt  backs,  etc.,  making  them  the  best  book* 
tor  presentation,  at  the  price,  published.  Price  of  either  one  in  this  style,  $2. 00  s  copy. 

MISS    PARDOE'S    "WORKS. 


Confessions  of  a  Pretty  Wo- 
man. By  Mies  Pardoe.  Complete 
in  one  large  octaro  volume.     Price  50 

cents. 

The  Jealous  "Wife.  By  Miss  Far- 
doe.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo 
volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  Wife's  Trials.  By  Miss  Par- 
doe.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo 
volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

The   Rival  Beauties.    By  Miss 

MRS.  ANN   S.   STEPHENS'  W^ORKS 

Alary  DerT«'ent.  This  is  Mrs.  Ann 
S.  Stephens'  last  new  work.  Complete 
in  two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price 
One  Dollar ;  or  in  one  vol. ,  cloth,  $1. 25. 

Fashion  and  Famine.  Two  vol- 
nmes, paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar ; 
©r.'i  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 


Pardoe.    Complete  in  one  large  octavo 
volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Romiance   of  the    Harem.    By 

Miss  Pardoe.    Complete  in  one  large 
octavo  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  whole  of  the  above  Five  ttx^ks  art 

also  bouTid  in  cloth,  gilt,  in  one  large 

octavo  volume.    Price  $2.50. 

The     Adopted     Heir.     By   Miss 

Pardoe.  Two  vols.,  paper  cover.   Price 

$1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25.    {In  Press.) 


The  Old  Homestead.  Two  vol- 
umes, paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ; 
or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

The  Gipsy's  Leg^acy;  or,  the 
Heiress  of  Greenhurst.  Two 
volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dol- 
lar ;  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 


COOK    BOOKS.      BEST    IN    THE    WORLD. 


Miss  Leslie's  New  Cookery 
Book.  Being  the  largest,  best,  and 
most  complete  Cook  Book  ever  got  up 
by  Miss  Leslie.  Now  first  published. 
One  volume.    Price  $1.25. 

Hrs.  Hale's  Ne^v  Cook  Book. 
By  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Hale.  One  volume, 
bound.    Price  One  Dollar. 


Miss  Leslie's  Netv  Receipts 
for  Cookinff.  Complete  in  om 
large  volume,  bound.  Price  Os* 
Dollar. 

W^lddlfleld's  Nevr  Cook  Bo*k, 

or,  Practical  Receipts  for  the  House- 
wife. Recommended  by  all.  On*  r«t> 
ume,  cloth.    Price  One  Dollar. 

MRS.  HALE'S   RECEIPTS, 
rs.  Hale'sReceipts  forthe  I      mental,  and  Dom«wtic  ArA     Beisg  • 
""""'  -        .   .  complete  Family  l'»rector  Aod  House* 

hold  Guide  for  th«  Millioa  By  Mrai 
Sarah  J.  Hale.  One  volume,  SOO  pagest 
strongly  bound.    Priee,  fl.2& 


Million.  Containing  Four  Thou 
•and  Five  Hundred  and  Forty-five  Re 
oeipts,  Facts,  Directione,  and  Know 
ledge  for   All,  In  the    Useful,  Orna 


T.  B  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 

CIIARI^KS    LEVER'S    WORKS. 

All  neatly  done,  up  in  paper  covers. 
Cttarics  O* SlHlley,. Price  rtO  cema.  I  Arthur  0'Leary,.../»nce  30  c 


Harry    Lorretiuer, (tO 

Horace    Tenipleton,...  60 

Tom    Burke  of  Ours,  60 
Jack       Hluton,       the 

Guardsman) 60 


Kuight  of  G^vynne«..  60 

liLate  O'Donogliue,....  60 
Con  Cregan,  tlie  Irisli 

Gil  Bias,, 60 

Davenport     Dunn,    a 

Man  of  our  Day, 60 


A  complete  sett  of  the  above  will  be  sold,  or  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  jfVdt 
of  postage,  for  $4.0a 

LIBRARY     EDITION. 

THIS  EDITION  Is  complete  In  FOUR  lartro  octavo  volumes,  containiajs' Charle* 

O'Malley,  Harry  Lorrequer,  Horace Tenipletou,  Tom  Baikeof  Ours,  Arthur  O'Leary, 

Jack  Hintou  the  OuardHman,  The  Knight  of  Gwynne,  Kate  O'Donoghue,  etc.,  hand- 

tomely  printed,  and  bound  in  varion«  Btyies,  as  follows : 

Price  of  a  sett  in  Black  cloth, $6.00 

"  "        Scarlet  cloth, 6.r,0 

*'  "        Law  Library  sheep, 7.00 

"  "        Half  Calf, « 9.00 

"  "        Half  Calf,  marbled  edges,  French, 10.00 

*  "        Half  Calf,  antique, 12.00 

FINER    EDITIONS. 
Cliarles  O'Malleyy  flue  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, 91,6n 

"  "  Half  calf, 2.00 

Harry  Liorrequer,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, 1.60 

"  "  Half  calf, 2.0Q 

Jaok  HInton,  fine  edition,  one  volame,  cloth 1.90 

"  "  Half  calf, 2.00 

Valentin*  Vox,  fine  edition,  one  volume,  cloth, 1.60 

"  "  Half  calf, 2.D0 

**  **  cheap  edition,  paper  cover, 60 

Ten  Tkousand  a  Year,  flneedition,  one  volume,  cloth, 1.60 

"  ♦*         Half  calf, 2.00 

**  <*         cheap  edition,  paper  cover.  Two  volumes 1.00 

Diary  of  a   Medical  Student.      By  S.  C.Warren,  author  of  "Ten 
Thousand  a  Year."    One  volume,  octavo, 60 

HUMOROUS    ILLUSTRATED    Tl^ORKS. 


Major  Jones'  Courtsttip  and 
Travels.  Beautifully  illustrated. 
One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.25. 

Mnjor  Jones'  Scenes  in  Geor- 
§;ia.  Full  of  beautiful  illustrations. 
One  volume,  cloth.     Price  $1.26. 

8am  Slick,  the   Clockmaker. 

By  Judge  Haliburtoii.  Illustrated. 
Being  the  best  funny  work  ever  writ- 
ten by  any  one  in  this  vein.  Two  vols., 
pa}>er  cover.  Price  One  Dollar;  or 
bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

^Iinon  SugKs'  Adventures 
and  Travels.  Illu.strated.  One 
volume,  cloth.    Price  $1.25. 

Hnmors  of  Falconbridge.  Two 
volumes,  pai)er  cover.  Price  One  Dol- 
lar ;  or  one  vol.,  clotn,  for  $1.25. 

rrank     Foreitter's     Sporting 


Scenes  &•  Cltaracters.     IDns* 

trated.     Two  vols.,  cloth.     Price  $2.50. 

DuAv's  SUort  Patent  Sermons* 

First    Series.      By   Dow,    Jr. 

Containing  128  Sermons.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  ■  or 
paper  cover,  75  cents. 

Doiv's  Short  Patent  Sermons. 
Second  Scries.  By  Dow,  Jr. 
Containing  144  Sermons.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  Dollar  ;  oi 
paper  cover,  75  cents. 

Do^v's  Short  Paten't  Sermons. 
Third  Series.  liy  Dow,  Jr, 
Containing  116  Sermons.  Complete  in 
one  volume,  cloth,  for  One  DoL'ar ;  oi 
paper  cover,  75  coats. 

American  Jae  Miller.  WithlOO 
Illustrations  One  oi  the  most  humors 
oos  books  in  the  world    Price  25  cent* 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BEOTHEES'  PUBLICATIONS.    4 


CHARIiKS    DICKKN^'    WORKS. 

fourteen  Different  EditUma  in  Octavo  Form. 
"PETBESON'S"  are  the  only  complete  and  uniform  editions  of  Charles  Dlcktm 
Works  ever  published  in  the  world ;  they  are  printed  from  the  orii^iual  London  Bdi- 
Ivons,  and  are  the  only  editions  published  in  this  country.  No  library  6.'thei 
public  or  private,  can  be  complete  Avithout  having  in  it  a  complete  ^ett  of  th« 
works  of  this,  the  greatest  of  all  living  authors.  Every  family  should  posReae  a 
■ett  of  one  of  the  editions.  The  cheap  edition  is  ctr^iplete  in  Sixteen  Tolamea 
paper  cover  ;  either  or  all  of  which  can  be  had  separately,  as  follows : 


Little  Dorrltt Price  fiO  cents. 

Pick'ivUk  Papers, 50  " 

lllckeug'  He-m  Stories,  60  " 

Blealc  House, 50  " 

David  Copperfteld, 50  " 

Dombey   and   Sou, 50  " 

Nicholas  Nickleby, 50  " 

CUristmas    Stories, 50  " 

Martin  Cliuzzlewit,....  50  *' 


Barnaby  Rudge,. ..Prfc«  60  c*nt« 

Old  Curiosity   Sbop,....  60  " 

Sketches  by  «»Boz," 50  '• 

Oliver   Twist, 60  " 

The  Tvi^o  Apprentices,  25  " 
Wreck  of  tlie  Golden 

Mary, 25  " 

Perils  of  certain  Sn- 

glisli  Prisoners, 25  * 


A  complete  sett  of  the  above  Sixteen  books,  will  be  sold,  or  sent  to  any  oae,  t*  Ok) 
place, /re«  of  postage,  for  $6.00. 


-*•*- 


LIBRARY    OCTAVO    EDITION. 
Pttblislied  in  Seven  Different  Styles. 
This  Edition  is  complete  in  SIX  very  large  octavo  volumes,  with  a  Portrait  ob    teH 
tf  Charles  Dickens,  containing  the  whole  of  the  above  works,  handsomely  pri''^ied 
*nd  bound  in  various  styles. 

Vol.  1  contains  Pickwick  Papers  and  Curiosity  Shop. 
*«      a       do.       Oliver    TwLst,    Sketches   by    "  Boz,"   and   Bar- 
naby Rudge. 
Nicholas  Nlckleby,  and  Martin  Chuzzle^vit. 
David     CopperAeld,     Dombey     and     Son,    »«d 
Cliristnias  Stories. 

Bleak  House,  and  Dickens'  Ne-w  Stories. 

liittle  Dorrit.    In  two  books— Poverty  and  Riches. 

Pric«  of  a  sett,  in  Black  cloth, #9  00 

"  Scarlet  cloth,  extra, 10.08 

"  Law  Library  style, ll.Oi 

"  Half  Turkey,  or  Half  Calf, 13.06 

"  Half  calf,  marbled  edges.  French, 14.5« 

"  Half  calf,  real  ancient  antique,. 18.09 

•  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc 18,00 


3 

do. 

4 

do. 

5 

do. 

6 

do. 

-*•< 


ILLUSTRATED    OCTAVO    EDITION. 

THIS  EDITION  IS  IN  THIRTEEN  VOLUMES,  and  Is  printed  on  very  \li9» 
tad  fine  white  paper,  and  is  profusely  illustratwa  with  all  the  original  Illu8trati«a» 
fcy  Cnilkshank,  Alfred  Crowquill,  Phiz,  etc.,  from  the  original  London  editions,  c« 
••pper,  steel,  and  wood.  Each  volume  contains  ..  novel  complete,  and  may  be  kaa 
U  •oap)«t6  setts,  beautifully  bound  in  cloth,  for  Nineteen  Dollars  a  Mtt:  or  aaj 


6    T.  B  PETERSON  &  BUOTHEBS'  PTJSLICATIONS. 

T»1na«  will  be  sold  separately  at  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each.    The  followini 
ikte  tho:!r  respectiye  names: 

LMile  Dorrlt.  Nicliolas  Nlckleby. 


Cliristinas  Stories. 
Martin  Chuzzlewit* 
Sketclics  by    <'Box.'» 
Oliver   Twist. 
Uickeus'  New  Stories. 


Pick-ivlck   Papers. 
Barnaby   Iludge. 
Old  Curiosity  Shop. 
Bleak  House. 
David  Copperfleld. 
Donibey  and  Son. 

rice  of  a  sett,  in  Black  cloth,  in  Thirteen  volumes $19.06 

"  Fnll  Law  Library  style 2(5.'M 

"  Half  calf,  or  half  Turkey, 29.0* 

"  Half  calf,  marhlnd  ed^es,  French S2.69 

"  Half  calf,  ancient  anti'iue 39.00 

"  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs,  etc ^.00 

<«•► 

DUODECIMO     ILLUSTRATED     EDITION. 

Complete  in   Twf^nly-Five  Volumes. 

The  Editlonh  In  Dnodeclmo  form  are  beautifully  Illustrated  with  over  Five  Hun- 
lirtui  Stent  and  Wooit  lUnhirntiun«,  from  designs  by  Cruikshank,  Pliiz,  Leesh, 
Browne,  Maclise,  etc.,  Illustrative  of  the  best  scenes  in  each  work,  making  it  the 
most  beautiful  and  {>erfect  edition  in  the  world  ;  and  each  work  is  also  reprinted 
(niiu  the  first  original  London  editions  that  were  Issued  by  subscription  in  monthly 
onmbers,  and  the  volumes  will  be  found,  on  examinaWon,  to  be  published  on  the 
flue«  and  best  of  white  paper. 

TbiH  edition  of  Dickens'  Works  Is  now  published  complete,  entire,  and  unabridged 
In  Tw»'nly-flve  beautiful  volumes,  and  supplies  what  has  long  been  wanted,  an  edi- 
tion that  shall  combine  the  advantages  of  portable  size,  large  and  r«adable  type, 
and  uniformity  with  other  standard  English  authors. 

This  Duodecimo  edition  has  been  gotten  up  at  an  expense  of  over  Forty-Fiv« 
TliouJtnmt  DtiUnrfi.hnl  the  publishers  trust  that  an  appreciative  public  will  repay 
them  for  the  outlay,  by  a  generous  purchase  of  the  volumes.  All  they  ask  w  for 
tim  public  to  examine  them,  and  they  are  coulldeut  thoy  will  exclaim,  with  one 
viico,  that  they  ar«  the  handsomest  and  cheapest,  and  best  illustrated  Sett  of  AVorki 
ever  published.  This  edition  i-s  sold  in  setts,  in  various  styles  o<  binding,  or  any 
Work  can  be  had  separately,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  ir  two  volumes  each, 
hrice  $'_'.50  a  soil,  as  followa : 


Plck^vick    Papers. 
Nicltolas  Nlcklcli3'. 
Uavid  Co)iperlieia. 
Oliver    T\v»«t. 
Rleak    Ilnuse. 
Little    norril. 
Uombey  and  Son. 


Sketches  by  "Boz." 
Bar^iaby    llucl^e. 
Martin  Cliuzzlewit. 
Olvl  Curiosity  Sbop. 
CKristntas  Stories. 
Dickens'    Kew  Stories. 


ftlssof  ft  Mt*.  In  Twenty  Five  volnmps,  bound  in  Black  clo^h,  gilt  cftCK8,....fS0  Ot 

"  Full  Law  Library  «tyle, .r. 4*».0C 

«  "  Scarlet,  fnll  giit,  .^ide!«,  edges,  etc., i'l.OO 

••  "  Half  calf,  aucieut  antique .80.00 

«•  ««  Hi.! f  calf,  full  gilt  back, «>0.0t 

«•  "  Full  calf,  ancient  antique, WOO 

*  "  Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  ba«k8,  eto -  W-OO 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    7 


PEOPLE'S    DUODECIMOEDITION. 

Published  in  EigU  Different  Styles. 
Thin  Dnodecimo  edition  is  complete  in  Thirteen  volnmes,  of  near  Ohe  ThcaHand 
l»|[eH  each,  with  two  illustrations  to  each  volume,  bat  is  not  printed  om  as  thick 
or  «»  fine  paper  as  the  Illustrated  Edition,  bat  contains  all  the  re/uiing  mattei  tbal 
bin  the  lUnstrated  Edition,  printed  from  large  type,  leaded.  The  volnmes  ar« 
•old  Beparately  or  together,  price  One  Dollar  and  Fifty  cents  each,  neatly  bound  in 
cloth  ;  or  a  complete  sett  of  Thirteen  volumes  in  this  style  will  be  sold  for  ♦ijJ.OO. 
following  are  their  names: 


Nicholas  NIckleby. 
Christinas   Srori«8.   * 
Old  Curiosity  SIkop* 
Sl<etches  by  »'Boz." 
Oliver  Twist. 
Dickens'    Kew    Stories. 


Lilt  tie  Dorrit. 
Pi«-.k>vick  Papers. 
3Iartin  Chnzzlewit. 
Uarnaby   Rud^e. 
Itleak  House. 
Dnvid  Copperllcld. 
Dombey  and  Sow. 

Price  of  a  sett,  in  Black  cloth, $19.00 

♦*  "  Full  Law  Library  style 24.0C 

«  "  Half  calf,  or  half  Turkey, 2*5.00 

"  "  Half  calf,  marbled  edges,  French, 28.00 

««  "  Half- calf,  aucieni  antique, 32.06 

•'  "  Half  calf,  full  gilt  backs, ,S2.00 

•«  *'  Full  calf,  ancient  antique, 40.00 

"  "  Full  calf,  gilt  edges,  back.s,  etc 40.0C 

ADVENTURES    AND    TRAVELS. 

Don  Q^uixotte. — Life  and  Ad- 
ventures of  Don  Q,uixoite| 

and  his  S(iuire,  Saucho  Pauza.  Com- 
plete in  two  volumes,  paper  co\  it 
Price  $1.00. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  PhuI 
]*eri%vinkle.  Full  of  Illu.'<r.rali«u8. 
l*rice  50  cents. 


Harris's       Explorations       in 

South   Africa.     By  Major  Coru- 

wallis  Harris.      This  book   is  a   rich 

treat.      Two   volumes,    paper    cover. 

Price  $1.00  ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.2'>. 
Wild  Oats  Sown  Al)road ;    or. 

On  and  OH'  Soundings.     I'rice  50  cents 

io  papier  cover  ;  or  cloth,  gilt,  75  cents. 

EUGENE    SUE'S    GREAT    NOVELS 


Illustrated  Wandering  Je-w. 

With  Eighty-seven  large  Illu.stratious. 

Two  volumes.     Price  $1.00. 
Mysteries    of   Paris;    and    Ge- 

rolstein,  the    Sequel   to  it.      Two 

volumes,  paper  cover.     Price  $1.00. 
First  Love.     A  Story  of  the  Heart. 

I'rice  2i.  cents. 
W^oinan's  Love.  Hlnstrated.  Price 

Bi)  cents. 

GEORGE 
Legends     of     the     American 

Revolution  ;  or,  Washiuijtou  and 

hisGeu«uai>.     Two  vols.     Price$I.(K). 
ffl»e  Q,uaker  City  ;  or.  The  Monks 

I'f  Mvnk    Hall       Two  volumes,  paper 

cover.     Price  One  Dollar. 

Paul  Ardenheiin;  the  Monk  of 
Wissahikou.  T\yn  volumes,  paper 
<y>ver.     Price  One  Dollar. 

manclie   of   Brandywiike.     A 

Revolutionary    Uomance.      Two    vnl- 
ni&ea,  ^aper  eover.     Price  Cue  Dollar. 


Martin  the  Foundling.  Beau- 
tifully Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  pa- 
per cover.     Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Man-of-AVar'.*-Mnn.  Com- 
plete in  one  large  octavo  volume. 
Price  25  cents. 

The  Female   Rluebeard.     On« 

volume.     Price  25  cents. 

Rnoul  de  Surville.    One  v«lame. 

Price  25  cents.     {In  Press.) 

IPPARD'S    WORKS. 

Tlie    Nazarene.      One  vol.      Price 

50  cents. 

Legends  of  Mexico.  Onevoina*. 
Price  2;")  cents. 

The    Lady    of    Albarone;    or, 

The  Poison  Ooblet.  Two  volumes,  pa- 
per cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ;  or  boand 
in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25.  (In 
Pre^-8.) 
Ne^v  York:  Its  Upper  Ten 
and  Lower  Million*  Gas  vol' 
ume.     Price  .00  cnatii. 


8    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


HUMOROUS    AMERICAX    WORKS. 

With  Original  Illustrations  by  Darley  and  Othersu 

Done  up  in  Illuminated  Covers. 
•lajor  Jones*  Courtship.    With 

Thirteen    Illufitra  dons,   from    designs 

by  Darley.     Prict  5o  cents. 
Drama  In  Pokervllle.  ByJ.  M. 

Field.     With  Illustrations  by  Darley. 

Price  Fifty  cents. 
Liouislaua  SAvanip  Doctor.  Br 

aiith  jr  of  *'  Cupping  on  the  Sternum. 

Plustrated  by  Darley.    50  cents. 
Clinrcoal   Sketches.     By  Joseph 

C.  Neal.    With  Illustrations.    60  cents. 
Yankee     Ainong^st   the    Mer- 
maids.     By  W.  E.  Burton.     With 

IlluKtrations  by  Darley.  Trice  50  cents. 

Allsfortunes  of  Peter  Faber. 

By  Joseph  C.  Neal.   With  Illustrations. 
by  Darley.    Price  Fifty  cents. 


9IaJor  Jones'  Sketches  of  Tra- 
vel. With  Eight  Illustrations,  from 
designs  by  Darley.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

Western  Scenes;  or,  Life  on 
the  Prairie.  By  the  author  of 
"  Major  Jones*  Courtship."    50  cents. 

C^narter   Race  In  Kentucky. 

By  W.  T.  Porter,  Esq.     With  Illustra- 
tions by  Darley.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Au- 
urenticcMhlp.  Illustrated  oy 
Darley.     Price  Fifty  Cents. 

Yankee  Yarns  and  Yankee 
Letters.  By  Sam  Slick,  alias  Judge 
Ualiburtou.     Price  60  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Col. 
Vanderbomb.  By  author  "Wild 
Western  Scenes,"  etc.     Price  50  cents. 

Big  Bear  of  Arkansas.  Edited 
by  Wm.  T.  Porter.  With  Illustrations 
by  Darley.     Price  Fifty  cent.s. 

Blajor  Jones'  Chronicles  of 
PInevllle.  With  Illustrations  by 
Darley.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Per- 
clval    Maberry.     By  J.   H.  In- 

graliam.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

Ci'rank   Forester's  Q,uorndon 


Hounds.     By  H.  W.  Herbert.  Es% 

With  Illustrations.     Price  50  ceat«. 
Pickings    from    the   <'Pic«y* 
une."    With  Illustrations  by  Darley 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank  Forester's  Shooting 
Box.  With  llluslratious  by  Darley 
Price  Fifty  cents 

Peter  Ploddy.  By  author  of  "Char- 
coal Sketches. "  Wi-th  Illustrations  by 
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Streaks  of  Squatter  Life.  By 
the  author  "Major  Jones'  Courtship.' 
Illustrated  by  Darley.     50  cents. 

Simon  Suggs.  — Adventures 
of  Captain  Simon  Suggs. 
Illustrated  by  Darley.     Price  5*.)  cents. 

Stray  Subjects  Arrested  and 
Bound  Over.  With  Illustrationg 
by  Darley.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank  Forester's  Deer  Stalk- 
ers.   With  Illusti-ations.    50  cents. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Far- 
rago. By  Hon.  H.  H.  Brackenridge. 
With  llluslratious.     l*rice  Fifty  cents. 

WIdoTv  Rugby's  Husband. 
By  author  of  "Simon  Suggs."  With 
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Major  O'Regan's  Adventures. 
By  Hon.  H.  H.  Brackenridge.  With 
Illustrations  by  Darley.    50  cents. 

Theatrical  Journey- Work  dt 
Anecdotal  Recollections  of 
Sol.  Smith,  Ksq.    50  cents. 

Polly  Peablossom's  Wed- 
ding. By  the  author  of  "Major 
Jones'  Courtship."    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Frank  Forester's  War-wlck 
Woodlands.  With  beautiful  Il- 
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New  Orleans  Sketch  Book. 
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Darley.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  Charms  of  Paris;  or. 
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Night  and  Day.    50  cents.     (InPreitg.'i 


C.    J.    PETERSON'S    WORKS. 


If  ate  Aylesford.  A  Love  Story. 
Two  vols  ,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
D-)lIar  :  or  bound  in  one  vol.,  cloth, 
for  fl. 2ft 


The  Valley  Farm  )  or,  The  Auto- 
biography of  an  Orphan.     A  Comi«B- 
ion  to  Jane  Eyre.     Price  25  cents. 
1  Grace  Dudlej";  or,  Arnold  at  8*r»- 
•rrulslng   In    the    Last   War.  |      t^^*-    Price  25  cents. 

Firs;  and  Second  Series.  Being  tl*  Mabel;  or.  Darkness  and  Dawn.  Tw< 
eomplete  work.  By  Charles  J.  Peter-  vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Doll»r 
•oa.    Price  60  i«nti  or  booad  in  cloth.  $1.25     (In  Pr«*»\ 


r.  B  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS     9 


ALEXANDRA    DUMAS»   1VORKS. 


4 •Vint    of  Hlonte-Crlsto.      67 

Alexandre  Dnmas.  Complete  and  un- 
abridged editiou.  Beautifully  Illim- 
tr^'M.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  $1.00 ;  or  in  cloth,  $1.25. 

iSdniond  Dantes.  Being  a  Sequel 
to  Dunias'  celebrated  novel  of  the 
"ConutofMonte-Cristo."  1vol.  SOcts. 

TU©  Three  Guardsmen.  B7 
Alexandre  DnraaH.  Complete  in  one 
lar^e  volume.    Price  75  oeuta. 

1  wenty  Years  After.  A  Sequel 
to  the  "Three  Guardsmen."  One 
volume.     Price  7.5  cents. 

Itragelonne  $  the  Son  of 
Atiios  :  beinir  the  continuation  of  the 
"Three  Guardsmen,"  and  "Twenty 
Years  After."    Cue  volume.    75  cents. 

riie  Iron  Mask.  Being  the  con- 
tinuation and  conclusion  of  the  "Three 
Guardsmen."    Two  vols.    Price  $1.00. 

Itouise  Ija  Valliere}  or.  The 
Ki'cond  Series  and  End  of  the  "Iron 
Mask."     Two  volumes.     Price  $1.00. 


TIte  Memoirs  of  a  Physician. 

Beautifully  Illustrated.  Two  vols. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Q,«een's  Necklace.  A  Se- 
quel to  the  "  Memoirs  of  a  Phy.sician." 
Two  volumes.     Price  One  Dollar. 

lix  Years  Lialer;  or.  The  Taking 
of  the  Bastile.  A  Continuation  of 
"  The  Queen's  Necklace."  2  vols.  $1'.00. 

"Connt  ess  of  Cliarny  ;  or,  The  Fall 
of  the  French  Monarchy.  A  Se<iuel  to 
Six  Years  Later.     Two  vols.     $1 .00. 

Tlie  Memoirs  of  a  Marqnis. 
Complete  in  two  vols.    Price  $1.00 


Diana  of  Meridorj  «r,  Franc«  )■ 
the  Sixteenth  Centuiy.  Two  volam«» 
Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Iron  Hand  j  or,  Tho  Knight  01 
Mauleon.  Beautifully  Ulubtrated.  Om 
volume.    Price  50  cents. 

The  Forty-Five  Guardsmen. 

Beautifully  Illustrated.     One  volum*. 
Price  75  cents. 
Fernande;     or,     The     Fall»^ 
Angel.     A  Story  of  L'ife  in   Pari*. 
One  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Thousand  and  One  Phan- 
toms.    Complete  in  oae  vol.    50  cis. 

Geor^^e;  or,  The  Planter  of 
tiie   Isle   of  France.    One  vol 

Price  Fifty  cents. 

Genevieve}  or.  The  Chevalier  of 
Maison  Rouge.  Oue  volume.  lUus 
trated.     Price  50  cents. 

Sketches   in   France 

ume.     Price  50  cents. 


Isahel  of  Bavaria. 

Price  50  cents. 


One  vol- 

One  volume. 


Felina  de   Chambure )    or,  The 

Female  Fiend.    60  cents, 

Andree   de  Taverney;    or,  The 

Second  Series  and  End  of  the  Countess 
of  Charny.  Two  vols.  $1.00.  {In 
Prtus.) 

The  Conscript  Soldier.    A  TaM 

of  the  Empire.  Two  voluuie.s,  pajwr 
cover.  Price  $1.00;  or  bound  in  one 
volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25.     (In  Fre«s.) 

Tiic    Corsican    Brothers.       26 

cents.     {In  Presa.) 


EMERSON 

The  Border  Rover.  Two  large 
vols.,  paper  cover.  Price  One  Dollar  ; 
or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.25. 

Pioneer's  Daughter;  and  the 
Unkno\«'n  Countess.  Complete 

in  one  volume.     Price  60  cents. 

Clara  Moreland.    Price  50  cents ; 

or  cloth,  gilt,  $1.00. 
Viola.    Price  60  cents;  or  In  cloth, 

gilt,  75  cents. 


Price  50  rents, 


BENNETT'S   AVORKS. 

The  Forged  Will. 

or  cloth,  gilt,  $1.00. 

Ellen  Nor1>ury*    60  cents;  crone 

vol.,  cloth,  $1.00. 

Bride   of  tlie  'U^ilderness.    £0 

cents. :  or  in  cloth,  75  ceuls. 

Kate  Clarendon.    60  cents;  ci  la 

cloth,  gilt,  75  cents. 
Heirrss    of    Bellefonte;     and 

Wulde-VVarreJk.    5C  cent* 


HARRY    COCKTON'S    WORKS. 


Iralrntine  Vox,  the  Ventrilo- 
quist. One  vol  ,papr;r  cover,  50ctM; 
»ir  a  liner  edition  in  cloin   for  $1.50. 

Sylvester  Sound,  t<ie  Som- 
nambulist. lll<jstr)«tf<i  Complete 
in  one  Urge  octavo  volaiue.  Price  50 
oeiit* 


The  Sisters.  By  Henry  Cocktur, 
author  of  "  Valeasi'iA  Vot,  the  V«b 
trilo.4uist."     Price  50  cents. 

The  Ste^vard.    By  Henry  Cocktem. 

Price  50  cents. 
Percy     Effingham.      &f     Benri 

Coektou.     IVloe  60  1 


30    T.  B.  PETEHSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS. 


GREl  >!«»    POPtJI.AR    NOVEIiS. 

Price  Tiventy- Five  Cents  each. 


Gipsy's  Daug^titer. 
ti«na  Cameron. 
Belle  of  tlie  Family. 
•$yl>ll  Lennard. 
Duke  and  Cousin. 
Tiie  Liittle  Wife. 
Manoeu-vring  Motlier. 


Baronet's  Daugkter*. 
Young  Prima  Donna. 
Old  Do-wer  House. 
Alice   Seymour. 
Hyacintlie.        [50  certs. 
Passion  &.  Principle. 
Mary  Sealiani.  30 cents. 


D'ISRAEL.I'S    POPULAR    KOVEL.S. 

With  a  Portrait  of  Vltsrndi  in  each  volume. 

f  It'ian   Grey.    One  large  volume, 

octavo.     Price  50  cents. 
i'enetla)   or,   L<>rd    Byroa  aad   hiu 

Dan;7hU>r.     Price  60  ceuta. 

Henrietta      Temple.      A     Love 
Story.    Price  50  ceut».. 


Tlie   Young   Duke.    One   ocjtv«i 

volume.     Price  38  cents. 
Contarini    Fleming.     An    A.3t»* 

bioirraphy.     I'rice  38  cents. 
Mirlnm  Alroy.     A  Romance  of  tL« 
12th  Century.     Price  38  cents. 


MISS    EI.LEX    PICKERING'S   AVOIUvS. 

Price  Twenty-Five  Ct-nts  ea^'h. 


Orphan  Xlece. 
Kate  AValslngtiain. 
AVIio  Stiall  be  Heir  1 
The  Secret  Foe. 
The  Expectant. 
Tl»e   Frigiit. 
Ctulet  Husband. 
The  ilciress. 


Poor  Cousin. 

Ellen  Wareham. 

Nan  Darrel. 

Prince  and  Pedlar. 

Mercliant's  Daughter. 

Tiie  Squire. 

Agnes  Serlc. 

Tlie  Grumbler.    50  cts. 


FRANK    PAIRLEGH'S  WORKS. 


Krank  Fnlrlrgh  ;  or,  Scenes  in  the 
Life  of  a  Private  Puiiil.  By  Frank  E. 
Sm^dley,  Ecq.  Illustrated.  Paper 
euver.     Price  50  ceutu. 

Lewis  Arundel.  By  author  of 
"  Frank  Fairle^h."  Illustrated.  Oue 
volume,  pajMjr  cover.     Price  75  cents. 

Uarry  Raeket  Scapegrace. 
By  author  of  "  Frank  FairleKli."  Com- 
plKe  in  one  volume.  Paper  cover. 
Pnce  50  ceuu. 


Liorrinirr  Litticgood.  By  au- 
thor of  "  Frank  FxirleKh."  Complete 
iu  two  volnniesi  paper  cover.  Prict 
♦l.0<» ;  or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth, 
for  "Jd.'iii.    (In  Pree/t.) 

Harry      Coverdale's      Court* 

ship,  and  All  that  Came  of  It.  Now 
first  published  Entire  and  Unabridged. 
Illustrated.  Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
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CAPTAIN    MARRYATT'S   -WORKSj. 

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Jacob  Faithful. 
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King's  Own. 
Snarieyoiv. 
Midshlpmnn  Easj*. 
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Mewton  Forster. 
Ra'iin.  I>ie  R«efe<*. 


Japhet  Search   JPnther. 
Pacha  of  iiiany  Tales. 
Pirate  &  Three  Cuttera^ 
Perclval  lieene.    m)ct«. 
Poor  Jack.     50  cents. 
Sea  King.     .50  cents. 
Peter  Simple.    50  ceuto 
Valerie.     50  cenu 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS     11 


REYNOLDS'    GREAT 

Mjrstcrles  of  tlie  Court  of 
Ijoiidon.  Complete  ia  two  large 
Tolumes,  paper  cover.    Price  $1.00. 

ftose  Foster;  or,  "The  Second  Se- 
rieK  of  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of 
London."    3  vols.,  paper  cover.  $1.60. 

Caroline  of  Brung-wick  f  or, 
tlio  "Third  Series  of  the  Mvsteries  of 
the  Court  of  London."  Two  vols., 
pap«r  cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 

%cnetla  Trelawncyi  being  the 
'•Fourth  Series,  or  final  conclusion  of 
the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  London." 
Two  volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  One 
Dollar. 

Lord  Saxondale)  or,  The  Court 
of  Queen  Victoria.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 

Count  Clirlstoval.  The  "  Sequel 
to  Lord  Saxondale."  Two  volumes, 
paper  cover.    Price  One  Dollar, 

Rosa  Lambert ;  or,  The  Memoirs 
of  an  Unfortunate  Woman.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.     Price  One  Dollar. 

Mary  Price ;  or,  The  Adventures 
of  a  Servant-Maid.  Two  vols.,  paper 
cover.    Price  One  Dollar. 

Eustace  Ctuentin.  A  "Sequel  to 
Mary  Pri«e."  Two  volumes,  paper 
cover.     Pri^e  One  Dollar. 

Josepli  "Wilntot  J  or,  The  Memoirs 
of  a  Man-Servant.  Two  volumes,  pa- 
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Tlie   Banker's    Daiigliter.     A 

Sequel  to  "Joseph  Wilmot."  Two 
vols. ,  paper  cover.   Price  One  Dollar. 

Kenneth.  A  Romance  of  the  High- 
lands. Two  volumes,  paper  cover. 
Price  One  Dollar. 

The  Rye-House  Plot ;  or,  Ruth, 
the  Conspirator's  Daughter.  Two  vols., 
paper  cover.     Price  $1.00. 

The  Opera  Dancer}  or,  The 
Mysteries  of  Loudon  Life.  Complete 
in  one  octavo  volume.    Price  oO  cents. 

The  Ruined  Gamester.  With 
Illustrations.  Complete  in  one  large 
octavo  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents, 

^^allace:  the  Hero  of  Scot- 
land. Beautifully  Illustrated  with 
Thirty-eight  plates.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

The  Child  of  Waterloo;  or, 
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plete in  one  octavo  volume.     60  cents. 

The  Discarded  Ciueen.  One 
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ROMANCES. 

Lucrezia  Mirano;  or.  The  Coun- 
tess and  the  Page.  Complete  in  oa« 
large  volume.    Price  60  cents. 

Ciprina;  or,  The  Secrets  of 
a  Picture  Gallery.  Complea 
in  one  large  volume.    Price  60  cents. 

The  Necromancer.  A  Romane* 
of  the  Times  of  Henry  the  Eighti 
Two  volumes.    Price  One  Dollar. 

Robert  Bruce  :the  HeroKiitf 
of  Scotland,  with  his  PorwjiX 
One  volume.    Price  Fifty  cents. 

Isabella   Vincent;   or.  The  Tw« 

Orphans.    One  volume,  paper  cover. 
Price  60  cents. 
Vi-vian    Bertram;   or,  A  Wife's 
Honor.      A  Sequel  to  "  Isabella  Vin- 
cent." One  vol.,  paper  cover.   60  cents. 

The    Countess    of   Lascelles. 

The    Continuation    to    "Vivian   Ber 
tram. "  One  vol.,  paper  cover.  60  cents. 

Duke  of  Marchmont.  Being th« 
Conclusion  of  "  The  Countess  of  Las- 
celles. "    One  vol. ,  paper  cover.    60  cts 

Gipsy  Chief.  Beautifully  Illustrated 
Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

PickAvick  Abroad.  A  Companion 
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One  volume.    Piice  Fifty  cents. 

Q,ueen  Joanna';  or,  the  Mys- 
teries of  tlie  Court  of 
Naples.    Illustrated.    60  cents. 

The  Soldier's  Wife.  Beautifully 
Illustrated.  Complete  in  one  volume. 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

May  Middleton  ;  or,  The  History  of 
a  Fortune.  Complete  in  one  v  siume 
Price  Fifty  cents. 

Massacre  of  Glencoe.  Beautiful- 
ly Illustrated.  Complete  in  one  vol* 
ume.     Price  Fifty  cents. 

The    Loves    of    the    Harem* 

Price  60  cents. 
Ellen  Percy ;  or,  The  Memoirs  of 

an  Actress.     Price  60  cents. 
Agnes    Evelyn ;    or.  Beauty  aaj 

Pleasure.     Price  50  cents. 

The  Parricide.  Beautifully  Ilia* 
irated.     Price  60  cents. 

Life  in  Paris.  Handsomely  lilw 
trated.     Price  60  cents. 

Eflgar  Montrose.  One  rommt. 
Price  25  cents. 

J.    F.    SMITH'S    BKJST    WORKS. 
The  Usurer's  Victim.    By  J.  F.      Adelaide    Waldgrave  ;    or,  The 


Smith,   Esq.     Complete  in  one  large 
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Italian  >vithout  a  Master.    In 

Five  Easy  Lessons. 
Latin  -without   a   Master.    I0 

Six  Easy  Lessons. 

The  whole  of  the  five  works  are  als** 
booud  In  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $1.35. 

-WESTERN    SCENES." 

The  Rival  Belles;  or,  Life  in 
Washington.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of 
"Wild  Western  Scenes,"  etc.  Tv;n 
volumes,  paper  cover.  Price  $1-00; 
or  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for 
$1.25.    (In  Press.) 


NEEDLE--WORK,    EMBROIDERIES,  ETC. 


Hiss  Lambert's  Complete 
Guide  to  Needle-^vork  &> 
Embroidery;  containing  Clear 
and  Practical  Instructions  whereby 
any  one  can  easily  learn  how  to  do  all 
kinds  of  Plain  and  Faucy  Needlework, 
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ties of  Silk,  Jlaterials,  etc.,  etc.  ;  with 
11;?  Illustrations  and  Diagrams.  By 
Miss  Lambert     Price  $1.25,  iu  cloth 


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The  stories  in  "  Peterson"  are  conceded  to  be  tkn  btst  pu'diy/ie/i  anywhtre.  The 
editors  are  Mrn.  Ann  S.  Stephens,  author  of  "  Mai-y  Derweut,"  "  F;iahion  and  Famine;" 
and  Oharles  J.  Peierson,  author  of  "The  Old  Stone  MauBiuu."  "Kato  Aylesfoal,"  "The 
Valley  Farm,"  etc.,  etc  ;  and  they  are  assisted  by  Alice  Can-y,  by  Frank  Lee  Benedict, 
by  the  author  of  "  Susy  L.'s  Diary."  by  T.  S  Arthur,  K.  L.  Chandler  Moulton,  Mehit4t- 
ble  llolyoke,  Virginia  F.  Townsend,  Carry  Stanley,  Caroline  E  Fairfield.  liUen  Ashton, 
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in  this  way,  will  SAVE  A  YEAR'S  SUBSCRIPTION.  The  Paris,  London,  Philndelpliia 
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given  in  great  profusion  in  every  number. 

COLORED  PATTERNS  IN  EMBROIDERY. 

The  Work  Table  department  of  this  Magazine  IS  WHOLLY  UNRIVALLED.  Every 
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Leather-work,  Painting,  Photographs,  Ac,  &c.,  with  full  descriptions.  Every  Numlwr 
containsa  SUPERB  COLORED  PATTERN  FOR  A  SLIPPER,  PURSE,  CHAIR 
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retail  store,  Fifty  cents ;  these  can  be  had  in  no  other  American  Magazine. 

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ting Ten  Dollars:  we  will  send;  gratis,  our  two  spleudid  MEZZOTINTS  of  NIAGARA. 
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AddrtM,  pott  paid,  CHARLES  J.  PETERSON. 

306  Chestnut  Street.  Philadelphia. 
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T.D  9-20m  4. 

GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


12Dec'55RE 
IN  STACKS 

NOV  2  8  1955 


21-100»n-l,'54(1887sl6)476 


Y.C  1 02503 


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